The Tower
To test their fancy by their sight;
I choose upstanding men
All that you have discovered in the grave,
They shall inherit my pride,
And one was drowned in the great bog of Cloone.
On their hollow top,
Music had driven their wits astray -
A pack of hounds and not a pack of cards,
Bring up out of that deep considering mind
That under bursting dawn
O may the moon and sunlight seem
pride, like that of the morn,
When all streams are dry,
Never had I more
In a learned school
Farmers jostled at the fair
A serving-man, that could divine
Slow decay of blood,
That nothing strange; the tragedy began
The people of Burke and of Grattan
As I would question all, come all who can;
WHAT shall I do with this absurdity -
Testy delirium
And followed up those baying creatures towards -
That climb the streams until
And that if memory recur, the suns
Neither to slaves that were spat on,
Or else by toasting her a score of times,
While their great wooden dice beat on the board.
And when that ancient ruffians turn was on
He stumbled, tumbled, fumbled to and fro
Nor to the tyrants that spat,
To young upstandi
九*九*藏*书*网
ng menAnd drop twigs layer upon layer.
Or what worse evil come -
And certain men-at-arms there were
The mother bird will rest
From ruin or from ancient trees,
Old lecher with a love on every wind,
Being of that metal made
Decrepit age that has been tied to me
Under eclipse and the day blotted out.
Float out upon a long
Till it was broken by
And certain men, being maddened by those rhymes,
Until imagination, ear and eye,
One inextricable beam,
Mirror-resembling dream.
And I myself created Hanrahan
Or that of the hour
In abstract things; or be derided by
I thought it all out twenty years ago:
He so bewitched the cards under his thumb
Did all old men and women, rich and poor,
Under the days declining beam, and call
And memories of love,
To break upon a sleepers rest
No, not in boyhood when with rod and fly,
Cowardice, some silly over-subtle thought
Upon a woman won or woman lost?
Hanrahan rose in frenzy there
A peasant girl commended by a Song,
Clipped an insolent farmers ears
And cry in platos teeth,
Or that of the sudden shower
For it is certain that you have
Till 九九藏书the wreck of body,
When they have mounted up,
Translunar paradise.
Upon a fading gleam,
Or dull decrepitude,
With learned Italian things
That, being dead, we rise,
And had the greater joy in praising her,
The man drowned in a bogs mire,
Seem but the clouds of the sky
Last reach of glittering stream
Theres not a neighbour left to say
That all but the one card became
As to a dogs tail?
When he finished his dogs day:
Death and life were not
I leave both faith and pride
As I do now against old age?
And brought them in a little covered dish.
Tree, like a sooty finger, starts from the earth;
And had the livelong summer day to spend.
III
That more expected the impossible -
I
If on the lost, admit you turned aside
It is time that I wrote my will;
It seems that I must bid the Muse go pack,
Strange, but the man who made the song was blind;
Made lock, stock and barrel
Who trod upon these rocks or passed this door,
Whod lived somewhere upon that rocky place,
They may drop a fly;
That made a catch in the breath - .
Aye, sun and moon and star, all,
But they mistook the brightness of the moon
Wh九*九*藏*书*网en the headlong light is loose,
Into the labyrinth of anothers being;
Bound neither to Cause nor to State.
Beyond that ridge lived Mrs. French, and once
And drove him drunk or sober through the dawn
Come with loud cry and panting breast
And send imagination forth
Or by a touch or a sigh,
For the prosaic light of day -
With Homer that was a blind man,
And had but broken knees for hire
O heart, O troubled heart - this caricature,
Ran and with the garden shears
Gifted with so fine an ear;
On the foundations of a house, or where
A sort of battered kettle at the heel.
Poets imaginings
Or a birds sleepy cry
Memories of the words of women,
That are impatient to be gone;
Dream and so create
Images and memories
And so warm her wild nest.
The pride of people that were
This sedentary trade.
That gave, though free to refuse -
Imagination, nor an ear and eye
Caught by an old mans juggleries
Could, he was so harried, cheer;
Man makes a superhuman,
Whose images, in the Great Memory stored,
When the swan must fix his eye
An ancient bankrupt master of this house.
Drop their cast at the side
Excited, www•99lib.netpassionate, fantastical
Come old, necessitous. half-mounted man;
Yet, now I have considered it, I find
As at the loophole there
So great a glory did the song confer.
Of every brilliant eye
When every silver candlestick or sconce
But I have found an answer in those eyes
Or anything called conscience once;
I pace upon the battlements and stare
Go therefore; but leave Hanrahan,
Through God-forsaken meadows; Mrs. French,
Whether in public or in secret rage
Some few remembered still when I was young
For if I triumph I must make men mad.
And praised the colour of her face,
Compelling it to study
And there sing his last song.
plunge, lured by a softening eye,
Remembering that, if walked she there,
Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend
Till man made up the whole,
The fountain leap, and at dawn
I mock plotinus thought
Of dripping stone; I declare
And that he changed into a hare.
A figure that has grown so fabulous
Does the imagination dwell the most
Can be content with argument and deal
Out of his bitter soul,
The red man the juggler sent
And Helen has all living hearts betrayed.
From somewhere inwww.99lib.net the neighbouring cottages.
When the horizon fades;
Or shod in iron, climbed the narrow stairs,
The daws chatter and scream,
When mocking Muses chose the country wench.
Climbing the mountain-side,
The Tower
That most respected ladys every wish,
Nor music nor an enemys clipped ear
Now shall I make my soul,
Rose from the table and declared it right
Among the deepening shades.
Or the humbler worm, I climbed Ben Bulbens back
O towards I have forgotten what - enough!
And bring beautys blind rambling celebrant;
All those things whereof
I have prepared my peace
Or that of the fabulous horn,
Rough men-at-arms, cross-gartered to the knees
The death of friends, or death
Lit up the dark mahogany and the wine.
And horrible splendour of desire;
Before that ruin came, for centuries,
II
Good fellows shuffled cards in an old bawn;
For I need all his mighty memories.
For I would ask a question of them all.
And I declare my faith:
Reckoned up every unforeknown, unseeing
From a great labyrinth out of pride,
And the proud stones of Greece,
And further add to that
I must recall a man that neither love