My dad's favorite day of the year, may God rest his soul.
From one of Yeats's later poems, I like these lines very much. (The punctuation is approximate.)
Irish poets, learn your trade
Sing whatever is well made,
Scorn the sort now growing up
All out of shape from toe to top.
Their unremembering hearts and heads,
Base born products of base beds,
Sing the peasantry and then
Hard riding country gentlemen,
The holiness of monks and after
Porter drinkers' randy laughter.
Sing the lords and ladies gay
That were beaten into the clay
Through seven heroic centuries.
Cast your mind on other days
That we in coming days may be
Still the indomitable Irishry.
From one of Yeats's later poems, I like these lines very much. (The punctuation is approximate.)
Irish poets, learn your trade
Sing whatever is well made,
Scorn the sort now growing up
All out of shape from toe to top.
Their unremembering hearts and heads,
Base born products of base beds,
Sing the peasantry and then
Hard riding country gentlemen,
The holiness of monks and after
Porter drinkers' randy laughter.
Sing the lords and ladies gay
That were beaten into the clay
Through seven heroic centuries.
Cast your mind on other days
That we in coming days may be
Still the indomitable Irishry.
