HERE is fresh matter, poet, <br />Matter for old age meet; <br />Might of the Church and the State, <br />Their mobs put under their feet. <br />O but heart's wine shall run pure, <br />Mind's bread grow sweet. <br />That were a cowardly song, <br />Wander in dreams no more; <br />What if the Church and the State <br />Are the mob that howls at the door! <br />Wine shall run thick to the end, <br />Bread taste sour.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/church-and-state/
