I would that I were an old beggar
Rolling a blind pearl eye.
For he cannot see my lady
Go gallivanting by;
A dreary, dreary beggar
Without a friend on the earth
But a thieving rascally cur—
O a beggar blind from his birth;
Or anything else but a rhymer
Without a thing in his head
But rhymes for a beautiful lady,
He rhyming alone in his bed.
—W.B. Yeats
