This is a poem called: 'To a friend whose work has come to nothing" by W.B. Yeats. I came across this poem when I was in my mid- to late- teens, and we were studying Yeats in school. I bought a book of his poetry and this poem was one that I returned to a lot, during the roller-coaster years of being a teenager, when things are very trying, and you get hugely depressed, and then you're grand again. This poem used to resonate with me because I liked the way Yeats reassured you about that time, about trying stuff and stuff not working, but just having strength, and having a quiet space to pull yourself together. So, that's what it means. Naturally, given that it's Yeats, it's beautiful.


“To a Friend Whose Work has Come to Nothing", by W.B. Yeats, 1916.

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lyrics

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours' eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.