DO not because this day I have grown saturnine <br />Imagine that lost love, inseparable from my thought <br />Because I have no other youth, can make me pine; <br />For how should I forget the wisdom that you brought, <br />The comfort that you made? Although my wits have gone <br />On a fantastic ride, my horse's flanks are spurred <br />By childish memories of an old cross Pollexfen, <br />And of a Middleton, whose name you never heard, <br />And of a red-haired Yeats whose looks, although he died <br />Before my time, seem like a vivid memory. <br />You heard that labouring man who had served my people. He said <br />Upon the open road, near to the Sligo quay -- <br />No, no, not said, but cried it out -- 'You have come again, <br />And surely after twenty years it was time to come.' <br />I am thinking of a child's vow sworn in vain <br />Never to leave that valley his fathers called their home.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/under-saturn/
