THE PILGRIM

I fasted for some forty days
on bread and buttermilk,
For passing round the bottle
with girls in rags or silk,
In country shawl or Paris cloak,
had put my wits astray,
And what's the good of women,
for all that they can say
Is fol de rol de rolly O.

Round Lough Derg's holy island
I went upon the stones,
I prayed at all the Stations
upon my marrow-bones,
And there I found an old man,
and though I prayed all day
And that old man beside me,
nothing would he say
But fol de rol de rolly O.

All know that all the dead
in the world about that place are stuck,
And that should mother seek her son
she'd have but little luck
Because the fires of Purgatory
have ate their shapes away;
I swear to God I questioned them,
and all they had to say
Was fol de rol de rolly O.

A great black ragged bird
appeared when I was in the boat;
Some twenty feet from tip to tip
had it stretched rightly out,
With flopping and with flapping
it made a great display,
But I never stopped to question,
what could the boatman say
But fol de rol de rolly O.

Now I am in the public-house
and lean upon the wall,
So come in rags or come in silk,
in cloak or country shawl,
And come with learned lovers
or with what men you may,
For I can put the whole lot down,
and all I have to say
Is fol de rol de rolly O.

- W.B. Yeats -

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