W B Yeats poem

From the epic poem Nineteen hundred and nineteen 

by W B Yeats

V

Come let us mock at the great 
That had such burdens on the mind 
And toiled so hard and late 
To leave some monument behind, 
Nor thought of the levelling wind. 

Come let us mock at the wise; 
With all those calendars whereon 
They fixed old aching eyes, 
They never saw how seasons run, 
And now but gape at the sun. 

Come let us mock at the good 
That fancied goodness might be gay, 
Grown tired of their solitude, 
Upon some brand-new happy day: 
Wind shrieked and where are they? 

Mock mockers after that 
That would not lift a hand maybe 
To help good, wise or great 
To bar that foul storm out, for we 
Traffic in mockery. 

Not quite sure why I chose to copy that today but 

it hit me when looking through the book of Yeats' 

poems I keep to hand.