The Lamentation Of The Old Pensioner

GH I shelter from the

Under a broken tree,

My chair was nearest to the

In every

That talked of love or politics,

Ere Time transfigured me.

Though lads are making pikes

For some conspiracy,

And crazy rascals rage their

At human tyranny,

My contemplations are of

That has transfigured me.

There's not a woman turns her

Upon a broken tree,

And yet the beauties that I

Are in my memory;

I spit into the face of

That has transfigured me.

Compare this version with Yeat's earlier version