(no subject)

[katallison]

Think of this as "continuing the post-poetry-in-your-LJ meme" rather than "Kat spamming LJ madly 'cause christ knows she's not getting any work done today" --

To a Friend whose Work has come to Nothing

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.

W.B. Yeats

Comments

[rymenhild.livejournal.com]

{wandering over from musesfool}

I was turning through my Collected Yeats this morning looking for comfort, and somehow I missed this poem. Thank you for sharing it.