The Irish poet William Butler Yeats wrote “A Prayer for my Daughter” in 1919, two days after the birth of his daughter, Anne, and included it in his 1921 collection, Michael Robartes and the Dancer. In the poem, a speaker (usually read as Yeats himself) prays about the type of woman he hopes his daughter will become and the kind of life he hopes she will have. At its core, the poem expresses a father's heartfelt wishes for his newborn daughter. In a larger sense, "A Prayer for my Daughter" is a rich, complex reflection on the joys and struggles of parenthood, Irish politics, and Yeats's own past.
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1Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
2Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
3My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
4But Gregory's wood and one bare hill
5Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind,
6Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
7And for an hour I have walked and prayed
8Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.
9I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour
10And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
11And under the arches of the bridge, and scream
12In the elms above the flooded stream;
13Imagining in excited reverie
14That the future years had come,
15Dancing to a frenzied drum,
16Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
17May she be granted beauty and yet not
18Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught,
19Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,
20Being made beautiful overmuch,
21Consider beauty a sufficient end,
22Lose natural kindness and maybe
23The heart-revealing intimacy
24That chooses right, and never find a friend.
25Helen being chosen found life flat and dull
26And later had much trouble from a fool,
27While that great Queen, that rose out of the spray,
28Being fatherless could have her way
29Yet chose a bandy-leggèd smith for man.
30It's certain that fine women eat
31A crazy salad with their meat
32Whereby the Horn of Plenty is undone.
33In courtesy I'd have her chiefly learned;
34Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned
35By those that are not entirely beautiful;
36Yet many, that have played the fool
37For beauty's very self, has charm made wise,
38And many a poor man that has roved,
39Loved and thought himself beloved,
40From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
41May she become a flourishing hidden tree
42That all her thoughts may like the linnet be,
43And have no business but dispensing round
44Their magnanimities of sound,
45Nor but in merriment begin a chase,
46Nor but in merriment a quarrel.
47O may she live like some green laurel
48Rooted in one dear perpetual place.
49My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
50The sort of beauty that I have approved,
51Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
52Yet knows that to be choked with hate
53May well be of all evil chances chief.
54If there's no hatred in a mind
55Assault and battery of the wind
56Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.
57An intellectual hatred is the worst,
58So let her think opinions are accursed.
59Have I not seen the loveliest woman born
60Out of the mouth of Plenty's horn,
61Because of her opinionated mind
62Barter that horn and every good
63By quiet natures understood
64For an old bellows full of angry wind?
65Considering that, all hatred driven hence,
66The soul recovers radical innocence
67And learns at last that it is self-delighting,
68Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,
69And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will;
70She can, though every face should scowl
71And every windy quarter howl
72Or every bellows burst, be happy still.
73And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
74Where all's accustomed, ceremonious;
75For arrogance and hatred are the wares
76Peddled in the thoroughfares.
77How but in custom and in ceremony
78Are innocence and beauty born?
79Ceremony's a name for the rich horn,
80And custom for the spreading laurel tree.
1Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
2Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
3My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
4But Gregory's wood and one bare hill
5Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind,
6Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
7And for an hour I have walked and prayed
8Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.
9I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour
10And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
11And under the arches of the bridge, and scream
12In the elms above the flooded stream;
13Imagining in excited reverie
14That the future years had come,
15Dancing to a frenzied drum,
16Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
17May she be granted beauty and yet not
18Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught,
19Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,
20Being made beautiful overmuch,
21Consider beauty a sufficient end,
22Lose natural kindness and maybe
23The heart-revealing intimacy
24That chooses right, and never find a friend.
25Helen being chosen found life flat and dull
26And later had much trouble from a fool,
27While that great Queen, that rose out of the spray,
28Being fatherless could have her way
29Yet chose a bandy-leggèd smith for man.
30It's certain that fine women eat
31A crazy salad with their meat
32Whereby the Horn of Plenty is undone.
33In courtesy I'd have her chiefly learned;
34Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned
35By those that are not entirely beautiful;
36Yet many, that have played the fool
37For beauty's very self, has charm made wise,
38And many a poor man that has roved,
39Loved and thought himself beloved,
40From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
41May she become a flourishing hidden tree
42That all her thoughts may like the linnet be,
43And have no business but dispensing round
44Their magnanimities of sound,
45Nor but in merriment begin a chase,
46Nor but in merriment a quarrel.
47O may she live like some green laurel
48Rooted in one dear perpetual place.
49My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
50The sort of beauty that I have approved,
51Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
52Yet knows that to be choked with hate
53May well be of all evil chances chief.
54If there's no hatred in a mind
55Assault and battery of the wind
56Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.
57An intellectual hatred is the worst,
58So let her think opinions are accursed.
59Have I not seen the loveliest woman born
60Out of the mouth of Plenty's horn,
61Because of her opinionated mind
62Barter that horn and every good
63By quiet natures understood
64For an old bellows full of angry wind?
65Considering that, all hatred driven hence,
66The soul recovers radical innocence
67And learns at last that it is self-delighting,
68Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,
69And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will;
70She can, though every face should scowl
71And every windy quarter howl
72Or every bellows burst, be happy still.
73And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
74Where all's accustomed, ceremonious;
75For arrogance and hatred are the wares
76Peddled in the thoroughfares.
77How but in custom and in ceremony
78Are innocence and beauty born?
79Ceremony's a name for the rich horn,
80And custom for the spreading laurel tree.
Once more the storm is howling, and half hid
Under this cradle-hood and coverlid
My child sleeps on. There is no obstacle
But Gregory's wood and one bare hill
Whereby the haystack- and roof-levelling wind,
Bred on the Atlantic, can be stayed;
And for an hour I have walked and prayed
Because of the great gloom that is in my mind.
I have walked and prayed for this young child an hour
And heard the sea-wind scream upon the tower,
And under the arches of the bridge, and scream
In the elms above the flooded stream;
Imagining in excited reverie
That the future years had come,
Dancing to a frenzied drum,
Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
May she be granted beauty and yet not
Beauty to make a stranger's eye distraught,
Or hers before a looking-glass, for such,
Being made beautiful overmuch,
Consider beauty a sufficient end,
Lose natural kindness and maybe
The heart-revealing intimacy
That chooses right, and never find a friend.
Helen being chosen found life flat and dull
And later had much trouble from a fool,
While that great Queen, that rose out of the spray,
Being fatherless could have her way
Yet chose a bandy-leggèd smith for man.
It's certain that fine women eat
A crazy salad with their meat
Whereby the Horn of Plenty is undone.
In courtesy I'd have her chiefly learned;
Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned
By those that are not entirely beautiful;
Yet many, that have played the fool
For beauty's very self, has charm made wise,
And many a poor man that has roved,
Loved and thought himself beloved,
From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
May she become a flourishing hidden tree
That all her thoughts may like the linnet be,
And have no business but dispensing round
Their magnanimities of sound,
Nor but in merriment begin a chase,
Nor but in merriment a quarrel.
O may she live like some green laurel
Rooted in one dear perpetual place.
My mind, because the minds that I have loved,
The sort of beauty that I have approved,
Prosper but little, has dried up of late,
Yet knows that to be choked with hate
May well be of all evil chances chief.
If there's no hatred in a mind
Assault and battery of the wind
Can never tear the linnet from the leaf.
An intellectual hatred is the worst,
So let her think opinions are accursed.
Have I not seen the loveliest woman born
Out of the mouth of Plenty's horn,
Because of her opinionated mind
Barter that horn and every good
By quiet natures understood
For an old bellows full of angry wind?
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 Heaven's will;
She can, though every face should scowl
And every windy quarter howl
Or every bellows burst, be happy still.
And may her bridegroom bring her to a house
Where all's accustomed, ceremonious;
For arrogance and hatred are the wares
Peddled in the thoroughfares.
How but in custom and in ceremony
Are innocence and beauty born?
Ceremony's a name for the rich horn,
And custom for the spreading laurel tree.
Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.
The Irish Literary Revival — An online exhibit about the literary movement defined by W. B. Yeats.
The Poem Out Loud — Listen to a reading of "A Prayer for my Daughter."
The Abbey Theatre — A history of the Abbey Theatre, which Yeats founded with his close friend Lady Gregory.
Yeats's Life and Work — A short biography of William Butler Yeats, along with links to many of his poems.
Maud Gonne — A short entry about Maud Gonne, who rejected Yeats's repeated marriage proposals and partially inspired "A Prayer for my Daughter."