William Butler Yeats

The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner

  I had a chair at every hearth,
  When no one turned to see,
  With "Look at that old fellow there,
  "And who may he be?"
  And therefore do I wander now,
  And the fret lies on me.

  The road-side trees keep murmuring
  Ah, wherefore murmur ye,
  As in the old days long gone by,
  Green oak and poplar tree?
  The well-known faces are all gone
  And the fret lies on me.