Explore "In Memory of Major Robert Gregory" by W.B. Yeats on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
1. Now that we're almost settled in our house / I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us / Beside a fire of turf in the ancient tower, / And having talked to some late hour / Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed: / Discoverers of forgotten truth / Or mere companions of my youth, / All, all are in my thoughts to-night, being dead.
2. Always we'd have the new friend meet the old, / And we are hurt if either friend seem cold, / And there is salt to lengthen out the smart / In the affections of our heart, / And quarrels are blown up upon that head; / But not a friend that I would bring / This night can set us quarrelling, / For all that come into my mind are dead.