WE have cried in our despair
That men desert,
For some trivial affair
Or noisy, insolent sport,
Beauty that we have won
From bitterest hours;
Yet we, had we walked within
Those topless towers
Where Helen waked with her boy,
Had given but as the rest
Of the men and women of Troy,
A word and a jest.
More verses by William Butler Yeats
- Those Dancing Days Are Gone
- The Rose Of The World
- The White Birds
- The Meditation Of The Old Fisherman
- Three Songs To The One Burden