The Hero, The Girl, and The Fool
The Girl
I rage at my own image in the glass,
That’s so unlike myself that when you praise it
It is as though you praised another, or even
Mocked me with praise of my mere opposite;
And when I wake towards morn I dread myself
For the heart cries that what deception wins
Cruelty must keep; therefore be warned and go
If you have seen that image and not the woman.
The Hero
I have raged at my own strength because you have loved it.
The Girl
If you are no more strength than I am beauty
I had better find a convent and turn nun;
A nun at least has all men’s reverence
And needs no cruelty.
The Hero
I have heard one say
That men have reverence for their holiness
And not themselves.
The Girl
Say on and say
That only God has loved us for ourselves,
But what care I that long for a man’s love?
The Fool by the Roadside
When my days that have
From cradle run to grave
From grave to cradle run instead;
When thoughts that a fool
Has wound upon a spool
Are but loose thread, are but loose thread.
When cradle and spool are past
And I mere shade at last
Coagulate of stuff
Transparent like the wind,
I think that I may find
A faithful love, a faithful love.
Altre opere di W. B. Yeats...
