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The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner
Although I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me.
Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny,
My contemplations are of Time
That has transfigured me.
There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory;
I spit in the face of Time
That has transfigured me.
William Butler Yeats 1865-1939
(This poem hit me right between the eyes. It is often "Time" that is our greatest enemy; Yeats nailed this thought, the reader cannot avoid the inevitable power of "Time", he was a true poetic "Master".)
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