“An Appointment” by W.B. Yeats

Being out of heart with government
I took a broken root to fling
Where the proud, wayward squirrel went,
Taking delight that he could spring;
And he, with that low whinnying sound
That is like laugher, sprang again
And so to the other tree at a bound.
Not the tame will, not the timid brain,
Not heavy knitting of the brow
Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly limb
And threw him up to laugh on the bough;
No government had appointed him.

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