Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition
Background details and bibliographic information
At the Abbey Theatre
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: 531 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: E910001-048
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 At the Abbey Theatre in , Ed. William Butler Yeats Responsibilities and other Poems. The Macmillan Company, New York, (1916) page 108109
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 individual 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.
Language: [GA] Two words are in Irish.
Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition: E910001-048
At the Abbey Theatre: Author: William Butler Yeats
- (Imitated from Ronsard)
- Dear Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into our case.
When we are high and airy hundreds say
That if we hold that flight they'll leave the place,
While those same hundreds mock another day
Because we have made our art of common things,
So bitterly, you'd dream they longed to look
All their lives through into some drift of wings.
You've dandled them and fed them from the book
And know them to the bone; impart to us
We'll keep the secreta new trick to please.
Is there a bridle for this Proteus
That turns and changes like his draughty seas?
Or is there none, most popular of men,
But when they mock us that we mock again?