Wednesday, October 29, 2014

There were no more Troys to burn

W.B. Yeats (1865–1939).  Responsibilities and Other Poems.  1916.

36. No Second Troy



WHY should I blame her that she filled my days 
With misery, or that she would of late 
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways, 
Or hurled the little streets upon the great, 
Had they but courage equal to desire?         5
What could have made her peaceful with a mind 
That nobleness made simple as a fire, 
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind 
That is not natural in an age like this, 
Being high and solitary and most stern?  10
Why, what could she have done being what she is? 
Was there another Troy for her to burn? 

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