Running To Paradise

By William Butler Yeats

    As I came over Windy Gap
    They threw a halfpenny into my cap,
    For I am running to Paradise;
    And all that I need do is to wish
    And somebody puts his hand in the dish
    To throw me a bit of salted fish:
    And there the king is but as the beggar.

    My brother Mourteen is worn out
    With skelping his big brawling lout,
    And I am running to Paradise;
    A poor life do what he can,
    And though he keep a dog and a gun,
    A serving maid and a serving man:
    And there the king is but as the beggar.

    Poor men have grown to be rich men,
    And rich men grown to be poor again,
    And I am running to Paradise;
    And many a darling wit’s grown dull
    That tossed a bare heel when at school,
    Now it has filled an old sock full:
    And there the king is but as the beggar.

    The wind is old and still at play
    While I must hurry upon my way,
    For I am running to Paradise;
    Yet never have I lit on a friend
    To take my fancy like the wind
    That nobody can buy or bind:
    And there the king is but as the beggar.

Share on facebook
Share on twitter
Share on whatsapp
Share on telegram
Share on email

About Us

Pick Me Up Poetry seeks to be an agent of change in society by fostering cross-cultural dialogue and providing much-needed information and representation for writers and performers. We offer our followers insightful glimpses into cultures around the globe through various mediums including our online articles, published anthologies, live spoken-word events and more. 

Download
Get a copy sent to your email right NOW!
Free Poetry Editing
Checklist & Guidelines
Download Free Checklist
Join Our Family & Subscribe To Our Newsletter
Privacy Policy: This information will never be shared with third parties.
Subscribe Now!
Join Our Family & Subscribe To Our Newsletter
Privacy Policy: This information will never be shared with third parties.
Subscribe Now!