I call on those that call me son, Grandson,
or great-grandson, On
uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, To
judge what I have done. Have
I, that put it into words, Spoilt
what old loins have sent? Eyes
spiritualised by death can judge, I
cannot, but I am not content. He
that in Sligo at Drumcliff Set
up the old stone Cross, That
red-headed rector in County Down, A
good man on a horse, Sandymount
Corbets, that notable man Old
William pollexfen, The
smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back, Half
legendary men. Infirm
and aged I might stay In
some good company, I
who have always hated work, Smiling
at the sea, Or
demonstrate in my own life What
Robert Browning meant By
an old hunter talking with Gods; But I am not content. |
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