[Coda to Responsibilities] (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

[Coda to Responsibilities]
by William Butler Yeats
[1914]

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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A Coat (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

A Coat
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world’s eyes
As though they’d wrought it.
Song, let them take it
For there’s more enterprise
In walking naked.


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The Dolls (by William Butler Yeats)

 

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

The Dolls
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

A doll in the doll-maker’s house
Looks at the cradle and bawls:
“That is an insult to us.”
But the oldest of all the dolls
Who had seen, being kept for show,
Generations of his sort,
Out-screams the whole shelf: “Although
There’s not a man can report
Evil of this place,
The man and the woman bring
Hither to our disgrace,
A noisy and filthy thing.”
Hearing him groan and stretch
The doll-maker’s wife is aware
Her husband has heard the wretch,
And crouched by the arm of his chair,
She murmurs into his ear,
Head upon shoulder leant:
“My dear, my dear, O dear,
It was an accident.”


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The Magi (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

The Magi
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

Now as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.


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An Appointment (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

An Appointment
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

Being out of heart with government
I took a broken root to fling
Where the proud, wayward squirrel went,
Taking delight that he could spring;
And he, with that low whinnying sound
That is like laughter, sprang again
And so to the other tree at a bound.
Nor the tame will, nor timid brain,
Nor heavy knitting of the brow
Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly limb
And threw him up to laugh on the bough;
No government appointed him.


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That the Night Come (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

That the Night Come
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

She lived in storm and strife,
Her soul had such desire
For what proud death may bring
That it could not endure
The common good of life,
But lived as ’twere a king
That packed his marriage day
With banneret and pennon,
Trumpet and kettledrum,
And the outrageous cannon,
To bundle time away
That the night come.


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The Cold Heaven (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

The Cold Heaven
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting Heaven
That seemed as though ice burned and was but the more ice,
And thereupon imagination and heart were driven
So wild that every casual thought of that and this
Vanished, and left but memories, that should be out of season
With the hot blood of youth, of love crossed long ago;
And I took all the blame out of all sense and reason,
Until I cried and trembled and rocked to and fro,
Riddled with light. Ah! when the ghost begins to quicken,
Confusion of the death-bed over, is it sent
Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken
By the injustice of the skies for punishment?


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Friends (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

Friends
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

Now must I these three praise —
Three women that have wrought
What joy is in my days;
One that no passing thought,
Nor those unpassing cares,
No, not in these fifteen
Many times troubled years,
Could ever come between 
Mind and delighted mind;
And one because her hand
Had strength that could unbind
What none can understand,
What none can have and thrive,
Youth’s dreamy load, till she
So changed me that I live
Labouring in ecstasy.
And what of her that took
All till my youth was gone
With scarce a pitying look?
How should I praise that one?
When day begins to break
I count my good and bad,
Being wakeful for her sake,
Remembering what she had,
What eagle look still shows,
While up from my heart’s root
So great a sweetness flows
I shake from head to foot.


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Fallen Majesty (by William Butler Yeats)

 

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

Fallen Majesty
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
And even old men’s eyes grew dim, this hand alone,
Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-place
Babbling of fallen majesty, records what’s gone.

The lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,
These, these remain, but I record what’s gone. A crowd
Will gather, and not know it walks the very street
Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud.


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A Memory of Youth (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]

A Memory of Youth
by William Butler Yeats
from Responsibilities [1914]

The moments passed as at a play;
I had the wisdom love brings forth;
I had my share of mother-wit
And yet for all that I could say,
And though I had her praise for it,
A cloud blown from the cut-throat north
Suddenly hid Love’s moon away.

Believing every word I said
I praised her body and her mind
Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,
And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,
And vanity her footfall light,
Yet we, for all that praise, could find
Nothing but darkness overhead.

We sat as silent as a stone,
We knew, though she’d not said a word,
That even the best of love must die,
And had been savagely undone
Were it not that love upon the cry
Of a most ridiculous little bird
Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.


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