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Thread: W.B.Yeats, Adam's Curse

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    W.B.Yeats, Adam's Curse

    The great poet and playwrite was a supporter of the irish fascist the blueshirts,which can be seen on www.fine-gael.org

    He is known to have written some songs for them,not very good but nonetheless proof of his fascist past.
    The liberal elite here in Ireland would have us believe otherwise.

    I am trying to get my hands on these,they seem to be hard to get,if anyone has any copy's please send them in to the above website,thank you.
    Last edited by Moody; Monday, January 29th, 2007 at 03:13 PM. Reason: merged identical posts
    'How did it come to this?' King Theoden

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    Post Adam's Curse [Yeats]

    ADAM'S CURSE

    William Butler Yeats



    We sat together at one summer's end,
    That beautiful mild woman, your close friend,
    And you and I, and talked of poetry.
    I said, 'A line will take us hours maybe;
    Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,
    Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
    Better go down upon your marrow-bones
    And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
    Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
    For to articulate sweet sounds together
    Is to work harder than all these, and yet
    Be thought an idler by the noisy set
    Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
    The martyrs call the world.'

    And thereupon
    That beautiful mild woman for whose sake
    There's many a one shall find out all heartache
    On finding that her voice is sweet and low
    Replied: 'To be born woman is to know—
    Although they do not talk of it at school—
    That we must labour to be beautiful.'

    I said, 'It's certain there is no fine thing
    Since Adam's fall but needs much labouring.
    There have been lovers who thought love should be
    So much compounded of high courtesy
    That they would sigh and quote with learned looks
    Precedents out of beautiful old books;
    Yet now it seems an idle trade enough.'

    We sat grown quiet at the name of love;
    We saw the last embers of daylight die,
    And in the trembling blue-green of the sky
    A moon, worn as if it had been a shell
    Washed by time's waters as they rose and fell
    About the stars and broke in days and years.

    I had a thought for no one's but your ears:
    That you were beautiful, and that I strove
    To love you in the old high way of love;
    That it had all seemed happy, and yet we'd grown
    As weary-hearted as that hollow moon.

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