Are You Content? – William Butler Yeats (A Poem)

I call on those that call me son
Grandson, or great-grandson
On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, 
To judge what I have done. 
Have I, that put it into words, 
Spoilt what old loins have sent? 
Eyes spiritualised by death can judge, 
I cannot, but I am not content. 
He that in Sligo at Drumcliff 
Set up the old stone Cross, 
That red-headed rector in County Down, 
A good man on a horse, 
Sandymount Corbets, that notable man 
Old William Pollexfen, 
The smuggler Middleton, Butlers far back, 
Half legendary men. 
Infirm and aged I might stay 
In some good company, 
I who have always hated work
Smiling at the sea, 
Or demonstrate in my own life 
What Robert Browning meant 
By an old hunter talking with Gods; 
But I am not content. 

William Butler Yeats