Bald heads forgetful of their sins, Old, learned, respectable bald heads Edit and annotate the lines That young men, tossing on their beds, Rhymed out in loves despair To flatter beautys ignorant ear. Theyll cough in the ink to the worlds end; Wear out the carpet with their shoes Earning respect; have no strange friend; If they have sinned nobody knows. Lord, what would they say Should their Catullus walk that way?
Return to the William Butler Yeats library , or . . . Read the next poem; These Are The Clouds