Like the moon her kindness is,
If kindness I may call
What has no comprehension in't,
But is the same for all
As though my sorrow were a scene
Upon a painted wall.

So like a bit of stone I lie
Under a broken tree.
I could recover if I shrieked
My heart's agony
To passing bird, but I am dumb
From human dignity.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 3027 times | Comments (0)

Poet: William Butler Yeats
Poem: A Man Young And Old: II. Human Dignity
Volume: The Tower
Year: Published/Written in 1928
Poem of the Day on:
Feb 16 2005
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