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Poem by William Butler Yeats


Paudeen


INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite
Of our old paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind
Among the stones and thorn-trees, under morning light;
Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind
A curlew answered; and suddenly thereupon I thought
That on the lonely height where all are in God's eye,
There cannot be, confusion of our sound forgot,
A single soul that lacks a sweet crystalline cry. 



William Butler Yeats


William Butler Yeats's other poems:
  1. At Galway Races
  2. At the Abbey Theatre
  3. King and No King
  4. Men Improve with the Years
  5. Tom at Cruachan


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