Easter, 1916 by W. B. Yeats (Poem & Summary)

 

Easter, 1916

by W. B. Yeats

(Poem & Summary) 

Easter, 1916

I have met them at close of day

Coming with vivid faces

From counter or desk among grey

Eighteenth-century houses.

I have passed with a nod of the head

Or polite meaningless words,

Or have lingered awhile and said

Polite meaningless words,

And thought before I had done

Of a mocking tale or a gibe

To please a companion

Around the fire at the club,

Being certain that they and I

But lived where motley is worn:

All changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

 

That woman's days were spent

In ignorant good-will,

Her nights in argument

Until her voice grew shrill.

What voice more sweet than hers

When, young and beautiful,

She rode to harriers?

This man had kept a school

And rode our wingèd horse;

This other his helper and friend

Was coming into his force;

He might have won fame in the end,

So sensitive his nature seemed,

So daring and sweet his thought.

This other man I had dreamed

A drunken, vainglorious lout.

He had done most bitter wrong

To some who are near my heart,

Yet I number him in the song;

He, too, has resigned his part

In the casual comedy;

He, too, has been changed in his turn,

Transformed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

 

Hearts with one purpose alone

Through summer and winter seem

Enchanted to a stone

To trouble the living stream.

The horse that comes from the road,

The rider, the birds that range

From cloud to tumbling cloud,

Minute by minute they change;

A shadow of cloud on the stream

Changes minute by minute;

A horse-hoof slides on the brim,

And a horse plashes within it;

The long-legged moor-hens dive,

And hens to moor-cocks call;

Minute by minute they live:

The stone's in the midst of all.

 

Too long a sacrifice

Can make a stone of the heart.

O when may it suffice?

That is Heaven's part, our part

To murmur name upon name,

As a mother names her child

When sleep at last has come

On limbs that had run wild.

What is it but nightfall?

No, no, not night but death;

Was it needless death after all?

For England may keep faith

For all that is done and said.

We know their dream; enough

To know they dreamed and are dead;

And what if excess of love

Bewildered them till they died?

I write it out in a verse—

MacDonagh and MacBride

And Connolly and Pearse

Now and in time to be,

Wherever green is worn,

Are changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

 

Summary

Some leaders of the Uprising were the poet’s personal acquaintances. During the years preceding Easter 1916, he would often meet them in the streets in the evening. They would return from their shops, offices, school, etc. He would greet them, or pass by them, with a bow of his head as sign of accepting their greetings. Several of them were members of the same club he himself was a member of. And there he would often entertain them with a mocking tale or a gibe at somebody else. His life and theirs were clownish, and he and they were not serious and devoted freedom fighters for their country’s political independence. But on Easter Day their behaviour put on a form of terrible beauty.

The woman who took part in the uprising boldly was Constance Markiewiez. In the pre-Uprising days she spent her day-time in simple benevolence. Her evenings were spent in arguing in favour of Irish freedom, in the Club. But in the Easter uprising she shouted patriotic slogans till her voice was hoarse. In her girlhood days she was young, beautiful, and a good rider. She used to ride after the dogs chasing hares. The other revolutionary was a schoolmaster called Pattrick Pearse. He was also a poet of good imaginative mind. The third revolutionary was Thomas Mac Donagh. He was a poet and, critic of great promise. At Pearse’s school, he was helper and friend of Pattrick Pearse. The fourth man known to the poet was John Mac Bride. The poet considered him to be a drunken, boastful. rustic. [He had married the woman, Maud Gonne, the poet had loved for a long period.] John had done injustice to Maud Gonne by quarrelling with her and letting her live in separation from him. Yet in the uprising his role was so brave that the poet considers him worthy to be described in the present poem. He resigned himself to his role of an armed rebel in the sudden comedy of the uprising, which, within a week, turned into a tragedy. His heroic behaviour put on a terrible form of beauty.

The hearts of all the revolutionaries were filled with a single aim. It was to win freedom for Ireland. Their purpose was the same all the time in all the seasons. The idea of Irish freedom seemed to have enchanted them with its charm. It had also made them stone-hearted. So, on the Easter Day they rose to check the flow in Dublin of the stream of British imperialism. The things, the animals, the birds, about them were all changing with the movement of time every minute. But their minds were firm and changeless in reference to their aim and objective. When a horse’s hoof slips on the brink of a little stream of a moorland, its legs splash in the stream water. The curlews sitting on the brink get terrified and jump into the water. The female ones call to their male ones. They get alive and change their behaviour every minute. But a stone lying in the water makes no change in its position. Likewise, in the midst of the busy and changing Irish life, the stone hearted rebels did not change their purpose and course. They had been working for Irish freedom for a long period. A prolonged sacrifice makes a person’s heart merciless and cruel. But in a political struggle sacrifice has to be prolonged. For we can never say that the sacrifice already made is sufficient for the cause. Only God knows whether a sacrifice for a cause is sufficient or not. As for man, he can only murmur the names of the martyrs one after another. All the revolutionaries except the woman were caught and shot dead. Are they asleep in the night? No, they are in the lap of death, never to come back again. Was their martyrdom necessary for Irish freedom? England had already promised to grant Home Rule to Ireland in 1914. If England fulfils her promise to grant Ireland her desired Home Rule, the sacrifice of the revolutionaries made during the Easter Week of 1916 will prove unnecessary. Their dream was however, noble,’ and they sacrificed their lives for it. So, the poet celebrates their glorious deed in the present poem. Today throughout Ireland they are looked upon as great martyrs. They will also retain their glorious status in future having laid down their lives for their country.