Collected Poems, by William Butler 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 laughter, sprang again

And so to the other tree at a bound.

Nor the tame will, nor timid brain,

Nor heavy knitting of the brow

Bred that fierce tooth and cleanly limb

And threw him up to laugh on the bough;

No government appointed him.