I read “The Fool’s Prayer” many years ago and, although it is not at the level of Yeats, its truth keeps coming back, especially whenever I consider how my words could have been better chosen.
An excerpt:
"’T is not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
'T is by our follies that so long
We hold the earth from heaven away.
"These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.
"The ill-timed truth we might have kept--
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung?
The word we had not sense to say--
Who knows how grandly it had rung!
Read the entire poem here.
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