"Fergus and the Druid" by William Butler Yeats

Fergus. This whole day have I followed in the rocks,

             And you have changed and flowed form shape to shape,

             First as a raven on whose ancient wings

             Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed

             A weasel moving on from stone to stone,

             And now at last you wear a human shape,

             A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.

Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

Fergus. This would I say, most wise of living souls:

             Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me

             When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,

             And what to me was burden without end,

             To him seemed easy, so I laid the crown

             Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.

Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?

Fergus. A king and proud! and that is my despair.

             I feast amid my people on the hill,

             And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels

             In the white border of the murmuring sea;

             And still I feel the crown upon my head.

Druid. What would you, Fergus?

Fergus.                                         Be no more a king

             But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.

Druid. Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks

           And on these hands that may not lift the sword,

           This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.

           No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.

Fergus. A king is but a foolish laborer

             Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.

Druid. Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;

            Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.

Fergus. I see my life go drifting like a river

             From change to change; I have been many things --

             A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light

             Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,

             An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,

             A king sitting upon a chair of gold --

             And all these things were wonderful and great;

             But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.

             Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow

             Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!

"Adam's Curse" by William Butler Yeats

We sat together at one summer’s end,

That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,   

And you and I, and talked of poetry.

I said, ‘A line will take us hours maybe;

Yet if it does not seem a moment’s thought,   

Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.   

Better go down upon your marrow-bones   

And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones   

Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;   

For to articulate sweet sounds together

Is to work harder than all these, and yet   

Be thought an idler by the noisy set

Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen   

The martyrs call the world.’

                                          And thereupon

That beautiful mild woman for whose sake   

There’s many a one shall find out all heartache   

On finding that her voice is sweet and low   

Replied, ‘To be born woman is to know—

Although they do not talk of it at school—

That we must labour to be beautiful.’

I said, ‘It’s certain there is no fine thing   

Since Adam’s fall but needs much labouring.

There have been lovers who thought love should be   

So much compounded of high courtesy   

That they would sigh and quote with learned looks   

Precedents out of beautiful old books;   

Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.’

We sat grown quiet at the name of love;   

We saw the last embers of daylight die,   

And in the trembling blue-green of the sky   

A moon, worn as if it had been a shell   

Washed by time’s waters as they rose and fell   

About the stars and broke in days and years.

I had a thought for no one’s but your ears:   

That you were beautiful, and that I strove   

To love you in the old high way of love;

That it had all seemed happy, and yet we’d grown   

As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.