A DOLL in the doll-maker's house <br />Looks at the cradle and bawls: <br />'That is an insult to us.' <br />But the oldest of all the dolls, <br />Who had seen, being kept for show, <br />Generations of his sort, <br />Out-screams the whole shelf: 'Although <br />There's not a man can report <br />Evil of this place, <br />The man and the woman bring <br />Hither, to our disgrace, <br />A noisy and filthy thing.' <br />Hearing him groan and stretch <br />The doll-maker's wife is aware <br />Her husband has heard the wretch, <br />And crouched by the arm of his chair, <br />She murmurs into his ear, <br />Head upon shoulder leant: <br />'My dear, my dear, O dear. <br />It was an accident.'<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dolls/
