The Song Of The Old Mother

A poem by William Butler Yeats

I Rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their day goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

Reader Comments

Tell us what you think of 'The Song Of The Old Mother' by William Butler Yeats

comments powered by Disqus

Home | Search | About this website | Contact | Privacy Policy