ARE YOU CONTENT?
 
 I CALL on those that call me son,
 Grandson, or great-grandson,
 On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts,
 To judge what I have done.
 Have I, that put it into words,
 Spoilt what old loins have sent?
 Eyes spiritualised by death can judge,
 I cannot, but I am not content.
 He that in Sligo at Drumcliff
 Set up the old stone Cross,
 That red-headed rector in County Down,
 A good man on a horse,
 Sandymount Corbets, that notable man
 Old William pollexfen,
 The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back,
 Half legendary men.
 Infirm and aged I might stay
 In some good company,
 I who have always hated work,
 Smiling at the sea,
 Or demonstrate in my own life
 What Robert Browning meant
 By an old hunter talking with Gods;
 But I am not content.