Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition
Background details and bibliographic information
To a Friend whose Work has come to Nothing
Author: William Butler Yeats
Electronic edition compiled and proof-read by Beatrix Färber, Juliette Maffet
Funded by School of History, University College, Cork
1. First draft.
Extent of text: 493 words
CELT: Corpus of Electronic Texts: a project of University College, Cork
College Road, Cork, Irelandhttp://www.ucc.ie/celt (2012)
Distributed by CELT online at University College, Cork, Ireland.
Text ID Number: E910001-006
The works by W. B. Yeats are in the public domain. This electronic text is available with prior consent of the CELT programme for purposes of private or academic research and teaching.
- A bibliography is available online at the official web site of the Nobel Prize. See: http://nobelprize.org/nobel_prizes/literature/laureates/1923/yeats-bibl.html
The edition used in the digital edition
- William Butler Yeats To a Friend whose Work has come to Nothing in , Ed. William Butler Yeats Responsibilities and other Poems. The Macmillan Company, New York, (1916) page 34
CELT: Corpus of Electronic Texts
The whole selection.
Text has been proof-read twice.
The electronic text represents the edited text. Lines (or parts of them) reproduced in italics in the printed edition are tagged hi rend="ital".
The editorial practice of the hard-copy editor has been retained.
div0 =the poem, stanzas are marked lg.
Names of persons (given names), and places are not tagged. Terms for cultural and social roles are not tagged.
Created: By William Butler Yeats (18651939).
Date range: before 1916.
Use of language
Language: [EN] The poem is in English.
Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition: E910001-006
To a Friend whose Work has come to Nothing: Author: William Butler Yeats
- Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours' eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.