In Memory Of Major Robert Gregory William Butler Yeats

                                                           1

                           Now that we're almost settled in our house
                           I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us
                           Beside a fire of turf in the ancient tower,
                           And having talked to some late hour
                           Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed:
                           Discoverers of forgotten truth
                           Or mere companions of my youth,
                           All, all are in my thoughts to-night, being dead.

                                                           2

                           Always we'd have the new friend meet the old,
                           And we are hurt if either friend seem cold,
                           And there is salt to lengthen out the smart
                           In the affections of our heart,
                           And quarrels are blown up upon that head;
                           But not a friend that I would bring
                           This night can set us quarrelling,
                           For all that come into my mind are dead.

                                                           3

                           Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind,
                           That loved his learning better than mankind,
                           Though courteous to the worst; much falling he
                           Brooded upon sanctity
                           Till all his Greek and Latin learning seemed
                           A long blast upon the horn that brought
                           A little nearer to his thought
                           A measureless consummation that he dreamed.