W.B.Yeats - JOHN KINSELLA'S

LAST POEMS

JOHN KINSELLA'S LAMENT FOR MRS. MARY MOORE

I
A BLOODY and a sudden end,
Gunshot or a noose,
For Death who takes what man would keep,
Or leaves what man would lose.
He might have had my sister,
My cousins by the score,
But nothing satisfied the old fool
But my dear Mary Moore,
None other knows what pleasures man
At table or in bed.
What shall I do for pretty girls
Now my old bawd is dead?

II
Though stiffer at a bargain,
That any old Jew man,
Her bargain struck we laughed and talked
And emptied many a can;
And O! but she had stories,
Though not for the priest's ear,
To keep the soul of man alive
And banish age and care,
And being old she put a skin
On everything she said.
What shall I do for pretty girls
Now my old bawd is dead?


I have heard it said in chapel
That but for Adam's sin
Eden's Garden should still be there
And I be there within.
No expectation fails there,
No pleasing habit ends,
No man grows old, no girl grows cold
But friend still walks by friend;
No quarrels over ha'pence there
They pluck the trees for bread?
What shall I do for pretty girls
Now my old bawd is dead?