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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

To a Poet, Who Would Have Me Praise Certain Bad Poets, Imitators of His and Mine

You say, as I have often given tongue
In praise of what another’s said or sung,
’Twere politic to do the like by these;
But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?

#IrishWriters #NobelPrize #1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems

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The Ballad of Moll Magee

Come round me, little childer; There, don’t fling stones at me Because I mutter as I go; But pity Moll Magee. My man was a poor fisher
A Man Young and Old: VII. the Friends of His Youth

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