ALTHOUGH I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me.
Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny,
My contemplations are of Time
That has transfigured me.
There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory;
I spit into the face of Time
That has transfigured me.
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Its hardly the same poem is it Andrew. The other, earlier (?) version is almost sentimental and has no real power in it. This is very much more hard hitting, an angry attack on the depredations of time, his feeling that his power has gone. He's no longer a powerful voice on the political scene, no longer part of the struggle for freedom, and no longer attractive to women, all he has now are his memories.
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I love Yeats! he mastery with words makes me come back for more. I long to read his poems because they are so rich. He wrote these words so long ago and yet I can relate to them as if it were today.
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Ahhh yes, nothing can beat reading poetry written by the masters of it. No matter what I might read by the Allpoetry poets, nothing will ever beat, in my opinion, the good ol' stuff, like Poe, and apparently, Mr. Yeats.
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I started to read this as I always do not knowing who the poet is and I was astonded at the beauty and talent in this poem. Then I loved to see who it was so I could read more, but alas Yeats is no more. He really was one great poet.
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As time goes on, things change and yet still they stay the same. People are people, what ever time they are in.
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You can't beat Yeats, as far as western poets go, for capturing the feelings of the aged. I like this poem but personnally do prefer it in its original verse, oldpoetry.com/poetry/32341
Andrew
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