Wednesday, March 18, 2009

To a Friend Whose Work has come to Nothing

by William Butler Yeats (1865-1939)

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours' eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known,
That is most difficult.

It seems this poem provides the type of encouragement one needs to blog on the state of the world these days.

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