The Consolation

by William Butler Yeats

    I Had this thought awhile ago,
    ‘My darling cannot understand
    What I have done, or what would do
    In this blind bitter land.’

    And I grew weary of the sun
    Until my thoughts cleared up again,
    Remembering that the best I have done
    Was done to make it plain;

    That every year I have cried, ‘At length
    My darling understands it all,
    Because I have come into my strength,
    And words obey my call.’

    That had she done so who can say
    What would have shaken from the sieve?
    I might have thrown poor words away
    And been content to live.