The Peacock

William Butler Yeats

What’s riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.

Next 10 Poems

• William Butler Yeats : The People
• William Butler Yeats : The Phases Of The Moon
• William Butler Yeats : The Pilgrim
• William Butler Yeats : The Pity Of Love
• William Butler Yeats : The Players Ask For A Blessing On The Psalteries And On Themselves
• William Butler Yeats : The Poet Pleads With The Elemental Powers
• William Butler Yeats : The Ragged Wood
• William Butler Yeats : The Realists
• William Butler Yeats : The Results Of Thought
• William Butler Yeats : The Rose Of Battle

Previous 10 Poems

• William Butler Yeats : The O'rahilly
• William Butler Yeats : The Old Stone Cross
• William Butler Yeats : The Old Men Admiring Themselves In The Water
• William Butler Yeats : The Old Age Of Queen Maeve
• William Butler Yeats : The Nineteenth Century And After
• William Butler Yeats : The New Faces
• William Butler Yeats : The Municipal Gallery Revisited
• William Butler Yeats : The Mountain Tomb
• William Butler Yeats : The Mother Of God
• William Butler Yeats : The Moods