THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER

by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

LTHOUGH I shelter from the rain

Under a broken tree

My chair was nearest to the fire

In every company

That talked of love or politics,

Ere Time transfigured me.

 

Though lads are making pikes again

For some conspiracy,

And crazy rascals rage their fill

At human tyranny,

My contemplations are of Time

That has transfigured me.

 

There's not a woman turns her face

Upon a broken tree,

And yet the beauties that I loved

Are in my memory;

I spit into the face of Time

That has transfigured me.

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