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103
Mr. W. B. Yeats.
105
I.
To “some of us”The Celtic Muse
Is a real and portentous personage:
She hath a palace of her own
Wherein abide
The loveliest of her sons
And daughters.
106
II.
The basement of that palaceIs, no doubt, occupied
By Mr. Dooley;
On the ground floor,
With his finger on the pulse of poesy
(Vide Sunday papers),
Sits Mr. W. P. Ryan;
Upstairs are Mrs. Shorter—
Chieftainess of the ballad department—
And Miss Fiona Macleod,
Who sets the fashion in pseudonymous oracularity,
And is said to be
The most beautiful woman
Mr. George Meredith
Ever saw.
107
III.
The remote attics(I am still dealing with the palace)
Have become the possession
Of “A. E.,”
Seer and philosopher.
Still higher up,
On the glittering roof in fact,
Dreams Mr. Yeats,
Hidden in the light of song,
And bawsking in the sweetest smiles
Of
The
Celtic
Muse.
108
IV.
Such, at any rate,Would seem to be the view
Of “some of us.”
109
V.
And on the whole, perhaps,“Some of us”
Are more or less right:
In any case,
I am prepared
To concede the palace,
I am prepared to concede Mr. Dooley his basement,
Mr. Ryan his ground floor,
Mrs. Shorter and Miss Macleod their upper floor,
“A. E.” his attics,
And Mr. Yeats his roof.
But, when it comes
To
The
Celtic
Muse,
I sneeze:
There is no such person—
That is to say,
The Muse of Mr. Yeats and his following
Is not Celtic at all,
But merely the late William Blake
Done up
In green petticoats,—
And William Blake
Was
A Cockney.
110
VII.
I have not the smallest desireTo discount
Your great gifts, Mr. Yeats;
I hold
That you have given us
A considerable body
Of decent poetry,
And I forgive you
Many things in consequence.
111
VIII.
At the same time,Until you expunge “Celtic”
From among the epithets
Of your Muse,
Some of us
Will never feel ourselves
Really able
To swallow you.
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