Are You Content?

I CALL on those that call me son,
Grandson, or great-grandson,
On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts,
To judge what I have done.
Have I, that put it into words,
Spoilt what old loins have sent?
Eyes spiritualised by death can judge,
I cannot, but I am not content.
He that in Sligo at Drumcliff
Set up the old stone Cross,
That red-headed rector in County Down,
A good man on a horse,
Sandymount Corbets, that notable man
Old William pollexfen,
The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back,
Half legendary men.
Infirm and aged I might stay
In some good company,
I who have always hated work,
Smiling at the sea,
Or demonstrate in my own life
What Robert Browning meant
By an old hunter talking with Gods;
But I am not content.

by William Butler Yeats

Comments (13)

i love succ i want succ......
...amazing poem with beautiful diction ★
this is from a time when Western intellectuals sought to recapture the spirit of the poets of antiquity. here wilde is praising poetry itself by invoking the classical Hellenic poetic icons.
through the wave and foam, good writing, thanks.
Beautiful poem and recited and interested.
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