William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс)

Church and State

HERE is fresh matter, poet,
Matter for old age meet;
Might of the Church and the State,
Their mobs put under their feet.
O but heart's wine shall run pure,
Mind's bread grow sweet.
That were a cowardly song,
Wander in dreams no more;
What if the Church and the State
Are the mob that howls at the door!
Wine shall run thick to the end,
Bread taste sour. 

1. The Pity of Love
2. The Dedication to a Book of Stories Selected from the Irish Novelists
3. The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
4. To Ireland in the Coming Times
5. The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water

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Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1973

Последние стихотворения

To English version