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William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс) * * * ALL things can tempt me from this craft of verse: One time it was a woman's face, or worse -- The seeming needs of my fool-driven land; Now nothing but comes readier to the hand Than this accustomed toil. When I was young, I had not given a penny for a song Did not the poet Sing it with such airs That one believed he had a sword upstairs; Yet would be now, could I but have my wish, Colder and dumber and deafer than a fish. William Butler Yeats's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1941 |
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