By William Butler Yeats
A man I praise that once in Tara's Hals
Said to the woman on his knees, 'Lie still.
My hundredth year is at an end. I think
That something is about to happen, I think
That the adventure of old age begins.
To many women I have said, ''Lie still,''
And given everything a woman needs,
A roof, good clothes, passion, love perhaps,
But never asked for love; should I ask that,
I shall be old indeed.'
Thereon the man
Went to the Sacred House and stood between
The golden plough and harrow and spoke aloud
That all attendants and the casual crowd might hear.
'God I have loved, but should I ask return
Of God or woman, the time were come to die.'
He bade, his hundred and first year at end,
Diggers and carpenters make grave and coffin;
Saw that the grave was deep, the coffin sound,
Summoned the generations of his house,
Lay in the coffin, stopped his breath and died.
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I spent four hours today tagging people and places in my Ireland photos on Facebook and discovered tonight that Facebook had erased over half of those tags, so I am fucking done with trying to post anything more than snapshots to Facebook and will stick with Google Photos and Flickr going forward. Otherwise, we went out to get bagels in the late morning, we went out to do grocery shopping in the afternoon, we took a short walk between bouts of drizzle to see the eagles, the geese, and a kingfisher who has come back to the lake.
In between baseball games that were exciting but did not end as I wanted, Cheryl and I watched several episodes of Derry Girls, since we'd seen the exhibition together in Derry (one of many sets of photos currently unlabeled on Facebook after being painstakingly tagged earlier). Now we're watching the fourth episode of Disclaimer, which is brilliant and painful and if there's not a twist fleshing out Cate Blanchett's character I'm going to be angry. Some photos of the Hill of Tara, Stone of Destiny, and Mound of the Hostages near sunset:
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