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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537107" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memory of Major Robert Gregory</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now that we're almost settled in our house <br>I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us <br>Beside a fire of turf in th' ancient tower, <br>And having talked to some late hour <br>Climb up the narrow winding stairs to bed: <br>Discoverers of forgotten truth <br>Or mere companions of my youth, <br>All, all are in my thoughts to-night being dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Always we'd have the new friend meet the old <br>And we are hurt if either friend seem cold, <br>And there is salt to lengthen out the smart <br>In the affections of our heart, <br>And quarrels are blown up upon that head; <br>But not a friend that I would bring <br>This night can set us quarrelling, <br>For all that come into my mind are dead. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind, <br>That loved his learning better than mankind. <br>Though courteous to the worst; much falling he <br>Brooded upon sanctity <br>Till all his Greek and Latin learning seemed <br>A long blast upon the horn that brought <br>A little nearer to his thought <br>A measureless consummation that he dreamed. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that enquiring man John Synge comes next, <br>That dying chose the living world for text <br>And never could have rested in the tomb <br>But that, long travelling, he had come <br>Towards nightfall upon certain set apart <br>In a most desolate stony place, <br>Towards nightfall upon a race <br>Passionate and simple like his heart. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And then I think of old George Pollexfen, <br>In muscular youth well known to Mayo men <br>For horsemanship at meets or at racecourses, <br>That could have shown how pure-bred horses <br>And solid men, for all their passion, live <br>But as the outrageous stars incline <br>By opposition, square and trine; <br>Having grown sluggish and contemplative. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">They were my close companions many a year. <br>A portion of my mind and life, as it were, <br>And now their breathless faces seem to look <br>Out of some old picture-book; <br>I am accustomed to their lack of breath, <br>But not that my dear friend's dear son, <br>Our Sidney and our perfect man, <br>Could share in that discourtesy of death. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For all things the delighted eye now sees <br>Were loved by him: the old storm-broken trees <br>That cast their shadows upon road and bridge; <br>The tower set on the stream's edge; <br>The ford where drinking cattle make a stir <br>Nightly, and startled by that sound <br>The water-hen must change her ground; <br>He might have been your heartiest welcomer. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">When with the Galway foxhounds he would ride <br>From Castle Taylor to the Roxborough side <br>Or Esserkelly plain, few kept his pace; <br>At Mooneen he had leaped a place <br>So perilous that half the astonished meet <br>Had shut their eyes; and where was it <br>He rode a race without a bit? <br>And yet his mind outran the horses' feet. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">We dreamed that a great painter had been born <br>To cold Clare rock and Galway rock and thorn, <br>To that stern colour and that delicate line <br>That are our secret discipline <br>Wherein the gazing heart doubles her might. <br>Soldier, scholar, horseman, he, <br>And yet he had the intensity <br>To have published all to be a world's delight. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What other could so well have counselled us <br>In all lovely intricacies of a house <br>As he that practised or that understood <br>All work in metal or in wood, <br>In moulded plaster or in carven stone? <br>Soldier, scholar, horseman, he, <br>And all he did done perfectly <br>As though he had but that one trade alone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Some burn damp faggots, others may consume <br>The entire combustible world in one small room <br>As though dried straw, and if we turn about <br>The bare chimney is gone black out <br>Because the work had finished in that flare. <br>Soldier, scholar, horseman, he, <br>As 'twere all life's epitome. <br>What made us dream that he could comb grey hair? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">I had thought, seeing how bitter is that wind <br>That shakes the shutter, to have brought to mind <br>All those that manhood tried, or childhood loved <br>Or boyish intellect approved, <br>With some appropriatc commentary on each; <br>Until imagination brought <br>A fitter welcome; but a thought <br>Of that late death took all my heart for speech.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Butler+Yeats">William Butler Yeats</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=537107" data-title="In Memory of Major Robert Gregory de William Butler Yeats" data-description="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 th' ancient tower, 
And having talked to some late hour 
Climb up the narrow winding stairs to bed: 
Discoverers of forgotten truth..."></div>
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