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,

While 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,

While 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.