LONG-LEGGED FLY
             - William Butler Yeats

That civilization may not sink,
Its great battle lost,
Quiet the dog, tether the pony
To a distant post;
Our master Caesar is in the tent
Where the maps are spread,
His eyes fixed upon nothing,
A hand under his head.
Like a long-legged fly upon the stream,
His mind moves upon silence.

That the topless tower be burnt
And men recall that face,
Move most gently, if move you must
In this lonely place.
She thinks, part woman, three parts child,
That nobody looks; her feet
Practice a tinker shuffle
Picked up on a street.
Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
Her mind moves upon the silence.

That girls at puberty may find
The first Adam in their thought,
Shut the door of the Pope's chapel,
Keep those children out.
There on the scaffolding reclines
Michael Angelo.
With no more sound than the mice make
HIs hand moves to and fro.
Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
His mind moves upon the silence.