5. THE LAMENTATIONS OF THE OLD PENSIONER CLASS-XI( BY- W.B. YEATS)

 Although I shelter from the rain

Under a broken tree
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me.

        Though lads are making pikes again
        For some conspiracy.
        And crazy rascals rage their fill
        At human tyranny,
        My contemplations are of Time
        That has transfugured me.

There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree.
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memories;
I spit into the face of Time
That has transfigured me.