“Considering that, all hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heavens will; She can, though every face will scowl And every windy quarter howl Or every bellows burst, be happy still.” Sol Weintraub asked, “William Butler Yeats?” Silenus nodded. “ ‘A Prayer for My Daughter.’
