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W. B. Yeats

Long-Legged Fly

That civilization may not sink
Its great battle lost,
Quiet the dog, tether the pony
To a distant post.
Our master Caesar is in the tent
Where the maps are spread,
His eyes fixed upon nothing,
A hand under his head.

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
His mind moves upon silence.


That the topless towers be burnt
And men recall that face,
Move most gently if move you must
In this lonely place.
She thinks, part woman, three parts a child,
That nobody looks; her feet
Practice a tinker shuffle
Picked up on the street.

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
Her mind moves upon silence.


That girls at puberty may find
The first Adam in their thought,
Shut the door of the Pope's Chapel,
Keep those children out.
There on that scaffolding reclines
Michael Angelo.
With no more sound than the mice make
His hand moves to and fro.

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
His mind moves upon silence.

About the poet
W. B. Yeats
 
By the same poet
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
When You Are Old
Where My Books Go
He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
The Song of Wandering Aengus
The Second Coming
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
Sailing to Byzantium
The Scholars
Byzantium
Memory
The Fascination of What’s Difficult
The Great Day
The Circus Animals’ Desertion
Vacillation
 
Related books
W. B. Yeats at amazon.co.uk


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