While I, that reed-throated whisperer <br />Who comes at need, although not now as once <br />A clear articulation in the air, <br />But inwardly, surmise companions <br />Beyond the fling of the dull ass's hoof <br />- Ben Johnson's phrase - and find when June is come <br />At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof <br />A sterner conscience and a friendlier home, <br />I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs, <br />Those undreamt accidents that have made me <br />- Seeing that Fame has perished that long while, <br />Being but a part of ancient ceremony - <br />Notorious, till all my priceless things <br />Are but a post the passing dogs defile.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/responsibilities-closing/
