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
