Closing Rhymes

by William Butler Yeats

　　

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While I, from that reed-throated whisperer Who comes at need, although not now as once A clear articulation in the air But inwardly, surmise companions Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s hoof, Ben Jonson’s phrase, and find when June is come At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof A sterner conscience and a friendlier home, I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs, Those undreamt accidents that have made me Seeing that Fame has perished this long while Being but a part of ancient ceremony, Notorious, till all my priceless things Are but a post the passing dogs defile.

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