- The Irish Review
- January, 1913
TO MR. YEATS’ POEM ‘IN THE ABBEY THEATRE.’
Good friend, and old companion man-at-arms,
Who struck shrewd blows beside me long ago,
The Protean crowd perplexing you, I know
Shares common hopes with me, common alarms.
Therefore we fare together, and Circe’s charms
On us are plied in vain. ‘Make friends not foes,’
Is still our password, yet we too aim blows
When blows at us are aimed, and quick blood warms.
A narrower cult but broader art is mine,
Your wizard fingers strike a hundred strings
Bewildering with multitudinous things,
Whilst all our offerings are at one shrine.
Therefore we step together. Small the art
To keep one pace where men are one at heart.