We should be hidden from their eyes, <br />Being but holy shows <br />And bodies broken like a thorn <br />Whereon the bleak north blows, <br />To think of buried Hector <br />And that none living knows. <br /> <br />The women take so little stock <br />In what I do or say <br />They'd sooner leave their cosseting <br />To hear a jackass bray; <br />My arms are like the twisted thorn <br />And yet there beauty lay; <br /> <br />The first of all the tribe lay there <br />And did such pleasure take - <br />She who had brought great Hector down <br />And put all Troy to wreck - <br />That she cried into this ear, <br />'Strike me if I shriek.'<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-man-young-and-old-vi-his-memories/
