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A Man Young And Old: VI. His Memories

 We should be hidden from their eyes,
Being but holy shows
And bodies broken like a thorn
Whereon the bleak north blows,
To think of buried Hector
And that none living knows.
The women take so little stock In what I do or say They'd sooner leave their cosseting To hear a jackass bray; My arms are like the twisted thorn And yet there beauty lay; The first of all the tribe lay there And did such pleasure take - She who had brought great Hector down And put all Troy to wreck - That she cried into this ear, 'Strike me if I shriek.
'

by William Butler Yeats
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