William Butler Yeats

BALD heads forgetful of their sins,

Old, learned, respectable bald heads

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That young men, tossing on their beds,

Rhymed out in love’s despair

To flatter beauty’s ignorant ear.

They’ll cough in the ink to the world’s end;

Wear out the carpet with their shoes

Earning respect; have no strange friend;

If they have sinned nobody knows:

Lord, what would they say

Should their Catullus walk that way!