William Butler Yeats

poems:

21

human dignity

A Man Young And Old: II

Like the moon her kindness is, if kindness I may call what has no comprehension in't, but is the same for all as though my sorrow were a scene upon a painted wall. So like a bit of stone I lie under a broken tree. I could recover if I shrieked my heart's agony to passing bird, but I am dumb from human dignity.

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