Good Poem

I ripped this poem from www.suasponte.blogspot.com, which is a wonderful blog by a former law student who chronicled her adventures throughout the entire process. (This poem was way back in the archives, so I don't mind repeating it here.) Also, since it's by a classic poet, one could make the argument that she just "borrowed" it from the original source, and I'm doing the same.

Now that I've made a half-hearted attempt to morally justify my actions, I hope you enjoy the poem below. Without explicating it too much (read: ripping out its heart analytically) I suggest that you pay attention to the crescendo of the work. In my opinion, the last eight lines are far superior to the first eight, with the final two delivering a solid punch. Either that, or during the latter portion of the work, his creative juices get flowing and everything "clicked." However, with a genius like Yeats at the wheel, I'm more inclined to chalk up any choices to genius rather than chance.

I look forward to hearing what you think.

To a Friend whose Work has come to Nothing

- William Butler Yeats (1916)

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.