by W. B. Yeats
‘In our time the destiny of man presents its meanings in political terms.’
How can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
On Roman or on Russian
Or on Spanish politics,
Yet here’s a travelled man that knows
What he talks about,
And there’s a politician
That has both read and thought,
And maybe what they say is true
Of war and war’s alarms,
But O that I were young again
And held her in my arms.
About the Author:
W. B. Yeats (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet.