I FASTED for some forty days on bread and buttermilk, <br />For passing round the bottle with girls in rags or silk, <br />In country shawl or Paris cloak, had put my wits astray, <br />And what's the good of women, for all that they can say <br />Is fol de rol de rolly O. <br /> <br />Round Lough Derg's holy island I went upon the stones, <br />I prayed at all the Stations upon my matrow-bones, <br />And there I found an old man, and though, I prayed all day <br />And that old man beside me, nothing would he say <br />But fol de rol de rolly O. <br /> <br />All know that all the dead in the world about that place are stuck, <br />And that should mother seek her son she'd have but little luck <br />Because the fires of purgatory have ate their shapes away; <br />I swear to God I questioned them, and all they had to say <br />Was fol de rol de rolly O. <br />A great black ragged bird appeared when I was in the boat; <br />Some twenty feet from tip to tip had it stretched rightly out, <br />With flopping and with flapping it made a great display, <br />But I never stopped to question, what could the boatman say <br />But fol de rol de rolly O. <br />Now I am in the public-house and lean upon the wall, <br />So come in rags or come in silk, in cloak or country shawl, <br />And come with learned lovers or with what men you may, <br />For I can put the whole lot down, and all I have to say <br />Is fol de rol de rolly O.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-pilgrim/
