I RANTED to the knave and fool,
But outgrew that school,
Would transform the part,
Fit audience found, but cannot rule
My fanatic heart.
I sought my betters: though in each
Fine manners, liberal speech,
Turn hatred into sport,
Nothing said or done can reach
My fanatic heart,
Out of Ireland have we come.
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start.
I carry from my mother's womb
A fanatic heart.
6 comments:
Flowery early, Yeats gave me a pain;
Time took to grow up, that time was a gain --
And finally when he came into his own
He kept it simple and drove it home.
The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.
The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow;
The storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.
Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.
BY EMILY BRONTË
Emily needs an Ex-Lax!
Trooper, that poem reads like rap! My mind IS mass culture?
ricpic, LOL. I know she wrote that on the pot.
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