W.B. Yeats: ‘Easter 1916’
‘Easter 1916’.
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven’s part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
W.B. Yeats
(1865—1939)
‘Easter 1916’
• fleursdumal.nl magazine
More in: *War Poetry Archive, Archive Y-Z, Archive Y-Z, Yeats, William Butler