For W.B, In Admiration

Jeremy1012
Jeremy1012 Posts: 7,170
edited October 2008 in Poetry, Prose, Music & Art
Poor Sligo son, what cursed life
was yours, what drab fate
but a murmured whisper of the joy
of others? And all else nothing
but a hope of a greater magic.

May youth echo you,
your own second coming,
though it be vanity to suggest it,
could another ride in sorrow
with you, and in sadness
be a friend embittered tomorrow.

Shakespear's gone, and Maud too,
mine as well, in this mirror
I look upon in arrogance.
In a way I seem older
and my magic has faded too,
and I hold out an admiring hand to you
"I remember one night at Muzdalifa with nothing but the sky overhead, I lay awake amid sleeping Muslim brothers and I learned that pilgrims from every land — every colour, and class, and rank; high officials and the beggar alike — all snored in the same language"

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