(Song from an Unfinished Play) My mother dandled me and sang, 'How young it is, how young!' And made a golden cradle That on a willow swung. 'He went away,' my mother sang, 'When I was brought to bed,' And all the while her needle pulled The gold and silver thread. She
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The Lover Pleads with His Friend for Old Friends
Though you are in your shining days,
Voices among the crowd
And new friends busy with your praise,
Be not unkind or proud,
But think about old friends the most:
Time’s bitter flood will rise,
Your beauty perish and be lost
For all eyes but these eyes.
W. B. Yeats
William Butler Yeats, widely considered one of the greatest poets of the English language, received the 1923 Nobel Prize for Literature. His work was greatly influenced by the heritage and politics of Ireland.