Summer 1965 • Vol. XXVII No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 1965 |

Elegy and Reflection

On the return of Yeats's body to Ireland Cast a cold eye on life, on death. Horseman, pass by. I By Ireland's rubbly palace that strait sea Often instructed neither by wind nor tide In its inflections runs. Into its child, the bay, It bore his ship, which long on the ocean lay And shuddered on the old wind of his death.  Unhorsed and disobedient today,  We stop to grieve him and our life display. II Consider his voyage: how the captain passed Proof in his uniform each night those eyes And deckward went on his unthinkable rounds Above the splendor of those final wounds; How the sea flourished in its unconcern.  Unhorsed and disobedient today,  We stop to grieve him and our life display. III On the dark land of seas by his own hand His speechless ruin has come to live with us; We will stand hatless, and the boatswain's shrill And funeral whistle will be our remark, And our salute, refusal of his will.  Unhorsed and disobedient today,  We stop to grieve him

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Mangham

By James Dickey

On the return of Yeats's body to Ireland Cast a cold eye on life, on death. Horseman, pass by. I By Ireland's rubbly palace that strait sea Often instructed neither […]

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