Closing Rhymes

by William Butler Yeats

    While I, from that reed-throated whisperer
    Who comes at need, although not now as once
    A clear articulation in the air
    But inwardly, surmise companions
    Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s hoof,
    Ben Jonson’s phrase, and find when June is come
    At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof
    A sterner conscience and a friendlier home,
    I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs,
    Those undreamt accidents that have made me
    Seeing that Fame has perished this long while
    Being but a part of ancient ceremony,
    Notorious, till all my priceless things
    Are but a post the passing dogs defile.