dots-menu
×

Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  William Butler Yeats

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Paudeen

William Butler Yeats

INDIGNANT at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite

Of our old Paudeen in his shop, I stumbled blind

Among the stones and thorn trees, under morning light,

Until a curlew cried and in the luminous wind

A curlew answered, and suddenly thereupon I thought

That on the lonely height where all are in God’s eye,

There cannot be, confusion of our sound forgot,

A single soul that lacks a sweet crystalline cry.