The Green Helmet and Other Poems Part 1

The Green Helmet and Other Poems.

by William Butler Yeats.

HIS DREAM

I swayed upon the gaudy stern The b.u.t.t end of a steering oar, And everywhere that I could turn Men ran upon the sh.o.r.e.

And though I would have hushed the crowd There was no mother's son but said, "What is the figure in a shroud Upon a gaudy bed?"

And fishes bubbling to the brim Cried out upon that thing beneath, It had such dignity of limb, By the sweet name of Death.

Though I'd my finger on my lip, What could I but take up the song?

And fish and crowd and gaudy s.h.i.+p Cried out the whole night long,

Crying amid the glittering sea, Naming it with ecstatic breath, Because it had such dignity By the sweet name of Death.

A WOMAN HOMER SUNG

If any man drew near When I was young, I thought, "He holds her dear,"

And shook with hate and fear.

But oh, 'twas bitter wrong If he could pa.s.s her by With an indifferent eye.

Whereon I wrote and wrought, And now, being gray, I dream that I have brought To such a pitch my thought That coming time can say, "He shadowed in a gla.s.s What thing her body was."

For she had fiery blood When I was young, And trod so sweetly proud As 'twere upon a cloud, A woman Homer sung, That life and letters seem But an heroic dream.

THAT THE NIGHT COME

She lived in storm and strife.

Her soul had such desire For what proud death may bring That it could not endure The common good of life, But lived as 'twere a king That packed his marriage day With banneret and pennon, Trumpet and kettledrum, And the outrageous cannon, To bundle Time away That the night come.

THE CONSOLATION

I had this thought awhile ago, "My darling cannot understand What I have done, or what would do In this blind bitter land."

And I grew weary of the sun Until my thoughts cleared up again, Remembering that the best I have done Was done to make it plain;

That every year I have cried, "At length My darling understands it all, Because I have come into my strength, And words obey my call."

That had she done so who can say What would have shaken from the sieve?

I might have thrown poor words away And been content to live.

FRIENDS

Now must I these three praise-- Three women that have wrought What joy is in my days; One that no pa.s.sing thought, Nor those unpa.s.sing cares, No, not in these fifteen Many times troubled years, Could ever come between Heart and delighted heart; And one because her hand Had strength that could unbind What none can understand, What none can have and thrive, Youth's dreamy load, till she So changed me that I live Labouring in ecstasy.

And what of her that took All till my youth was gone With scarce a pitying look?

How should I praise that one?

When day begins to break I count my good and bad, Being wakeful for her sake, Remembering what she had, What eagle look still shows, While up from my heart's root So great a sweetness flows I shake from head to foot.

NO SECOND TROY

Why should I blame her that she filled my days With misery, or that she would of late Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways, Or hurled the little streets upon the great, Had they but courage equal to desire?

What could have made her peaceful with a mind That n.o.bleness made simple as a fire, With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind That is not natural in an age like this, Being high and solitary and most stern?

Why, what could she have done being what she is?

Was there another Troy for her to burn?

RECONCILIATION

Some may have blamed you that you took away The verses that could move them on the day When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind With lightning you went from me, and I could find Nothing to make a song about but kings, Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things That were like memories of you--but now We'll out, for the world lives as long ago; And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit, Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.

But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone, My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.

KING AND NO KING

"Would it were anything but merely voice!"

The No King cried who after that was King, Because he had not heard of anything That balanced with a word is more than noise; Yet Old Romance being kind, let him prevail Somewhere or somehow that I have forgot, Though he'd but cannon--Whereas we that had thought To have lit upon as clean and sweet a tale Have been defeated by that pledge you gave In momentary anger long ago; And I that have not your faith, how shall I know That in the blinding light beyond the grave We'll find so good a thing as that we have lost?

The hourly kindness, the day's common speech, The habitual content of each with each When neither soul nor body has been crossed.