A Memory of Youth

The moments passed as at a play,

I had the wisdom love brings forth;

I had my share of mother wit

And yet for all that I could say,

5

And though I had her praise for it,

A cloud blown from the cut-throat north

Suddenly hid love’s moon away.

Believing every word I said

I praised her body and her mind

10

Till pride had made her eyes grow bright,

And pleasure made her cheeks grow red,

And vanity her footfall light,

Yet we, for all that praise, could find

Nothing but darkness overhead.

15

We sat as silent as a stone,

We knew, though she’d not said a word,

That even the best of love must die,

And had been savagely undone

Were it not that love upon the cry

20

Of a most ridiculous little bird

Tore from the clouds his marvellous moon.

—
William Butler Yeats

Responsibilities and Other Poems, 1916