Thoughts Upon the Present State of the World by W.B. Yeats

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I. Many ingenious lovely things are gone / That seemed sheer miracle to the multitude; / Above the murderous treachery of the moon / Or all that wayward ebb and flow. There stood / Amid the ornamental bronze and stone / An ancient image made of olive wood; / And gone are Phidias' carven ivories / And all his golden grasshoppers and bees.

We too had many pretty toys when young; / A law indifferent to blame or praise / To bribe or threat; habits that made old wrong / Melt down, as it were wax in the sun's rays; / Public opinion ripening for so long / We thought it would outlive all future days.

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