Tuesday, December 8, 2015

My better self disowns

A part of the magic of poetry is that even if you don't take to the whole poem, not infrequently there are yet nuggets of gold within the lines. I like Yeats in general though there are large swaths of his work that leave me unmoved or flummoxed or too lazy to untangle what he is getting at. Perhaps poems for my dotage.

In his poem, A Woman Young and Old, I love these lines:
I long for truth, and yet
I cannot stay from that
My better self disowns
The serpent always beguiles us.

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