The Poetry Corner

The Dolls

By William Butler Yeats

A Doll in the doll-makers house Looks at the cradle and balls: That is an insult to us. But the oldest of all the dolls Who had seen, being kept for show, Generations of his sort, Out-screams the whole shelf: Although Theres not a man can report Evil of this place, The man and the woman bring Hither to our disgrace, A noisy and filthy thing. Hearing him groan and stretch The doll-makers wife is aware Her husband has heard the wretch, And crouched by the arm of his chair, She murmurs into his ear, Head upon shoulder leant: My dear, my dear, oh dear, It was an accident.