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- UNDER BEN BULBEN
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- I
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- SWEAR by what the sages spoke
- Round the Mareotic Lake
- That the Witch of Atlas knew,
- Spoke and set the cocks a-crow.
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- Swear by those horsemen, by those women
- Complexion and form prove superhuman,
- That pale, long-visaged company
- That air in immortality
- Completeness of their passions won;
- Now they ride the wintry dawn
- Where Ben Bulben sets the scene.
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- Here s the gist of what they mean.
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- II
- Many times man lives and dies
- Between his two eternities,
- That of race and that of soul,
- And ancient Ireland knew it all.
- Whether man die in his bed
- Or the rifle knocks him dead,
- A brief parting from those dear
- Is the worst man has to fear.
- Though grave-diggers' toil is long,
- Sharp their spades, their muscles strong.
- They but thrust their buried men
- Back in the human mind again.
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- III
- You that Mitchel's prayer have heard,
- "Send war in our time, O Lord!'
- Know that when all words are said
- And a man is fighting mad,
- Something drops from eyes long blind,
- He completes his partial mind,
- For an instant stands at ease,
- Laughs aloud, his heart at peace.
- Even the wisest man grows tense
- With some sort of violence
- Before he can accomplish fate,
- Know his work or choose his mate.
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- IV
- Poet and sculptor, do the work,
- Nor let the modish painter shirk
- What his great forefathers did.
- Bring the soul of man to God,
- Make him fill the cradles right.
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- Measurement began our might:
- Forms a stark Egyptian thought,
- Forms that gentler phidias wrought.
- Michael Angelo left a proof
- On the Sistine Chapel roof,
- Where but half-awakened Adam
- Can disturb globe-trotting Madam
- Till her bowels are in heat,
- proof that there's a purpose set
- Before the secret working mind:
- Profane perfection of mankind.
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- Quattrocento put in paint
- On backgrounds for a God or Saint
- Gardens where a soul's at ease;
- Where everything that meets the eye,
- Flowers and grass and cloudless sky,
- Resemble forms that are or seem
- When sleepers wake and yet still dream.
- And when it's vanished still declare,
- With only bed and bedstead there,
- That heavens had opened.
- Gyres run on;
- When that greater dream had gone
- Calvert and Wilson, Blake and Claude,
- Prepared a rest for the people of God,
- Palmer's phrase, but after that
- Confusion fell upon our thought.
- V
- Irish poets, earn your trade,
- Sing whatever is well made,
- Scorn the sort now growing up
- All out of shape from toe to top,
- Their unremembering hearts and heads
- Base-born products of base beds.
- Sing the peasantry, and then
- Hard-riding country gentlemen,
- The holiness of monks, and after
- Porter-drinkers' randy laughter;
- Sing the lords and ladies gay
- That were beaten into the clay
- Through seven heroic centuries;
- Cast your mind on other days
- That we in coming days may be
- Still the indomitable Irishry.
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- VI
- Under bare Ben Bulben's head
- In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.
- An ancestor was rector there
- Long years ago, a church stands near,
- By the road an ancient cross.
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- No marble, no conventional phrase;
- On limestone quarried near the spot
- By his command these words are cut:
- i{Cast a cold eye}
- i{On life, on death.}
- i{Horseman, pass by!}
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