Poem by William Butler Yeats

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. Upon a House Shaken by the Land Agitation
2. These Are the Clouds
3. Against Unworthy Praise
4. The Mask
5. Solomon to Sheba

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