If ever you go to Dublin Town

He had a knack of making men feel
As small as they really were
Which meant as great as God had made them
But as males they disliked his air

I saw his name with a hundred more
In a book in the library
It said he had never fully achieved
His potentiality
Oh he was slothful
(…)

He knew that posterity has no use
For anything but the soul
The lines that speak the passionate heart
The spirit that lives alone
O he was a lone one
(…)
Yet he lived happily
I tell you.