English |
Summary | Unit: Love and Reminiscence
The
Lamentation of an Old Pensioner | W.B. Yeats
Although I
shelter from the rain
Under a
broken tree,
My chair
was nearest to the fire
In every
company
That talked
of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured
me.
Though lads
are making pikes again
For some
conspiracy,
And crazy
rascals rage their fill
At human
tyranny,
My
contemplations are of Time
That has
transfigured me.
There’s not
a woman turns her face
Upon a
broken tree,
And yet the
beauties that I loved
Are in my
memory;
I spit into
the face of Time
That has
transfigured me.