To William Butler Yeats

TELL us of beauty! Touch thy silver lyreAnd bid thy Muse unfold her shining wings!Tell us of joy—of those unaging thingsWhich wither not, nor are consumed by fire,Things unto which the souls of all aspire!Sing us the mystic song thine Erin sings,Her poignant dreams, her weird imaginings,With magic of thy "Land of Heart's Desire!"

Let others hate!—from lips not thine be hurledReproaches; since all hate at last must proveAbortive, though it triumph for a while.The gospels that indeed have won the worldLaid their foundations in the strength of love.Sing thou, a lover, of thy wave-washed Isle!