I CALL on those that call me son, <br />Grandson, or great-grandson, <br />On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, <br />To judge what I have done. <br />Have I, that put it into words, <br />Spoilt what old loins have sent? <br />Eyes spiritualised by death can judge, <br />I cannot, but I am not content. <br />He that in Sligo at Drumcliff <br />Set up the old stone Cross, <br />That red-headed rector in County Down, <br />A good man on a horse, <br />Sandymount Corbets, that notable man <br />Old William pollexfen, <br />The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back, <br />Half legendary men. <br />Infirm and aged I might stay <br />In some good company, <br />I who have always hated work, <br />Smiling at the sea, <br />Or demonstrate in my own life <br />What Robert Browning meant <br />By an old hunter talking with Gods; <br />But I am not content.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/are-you-content/
