Terminal

What Then?
W.B. Yeats

 His chosen comrades thought at school
 He must grow a famous man;
 He thought the same and lived by rule,
 All his twenties crammed with toil;
 "What then?' sang Plato's ghost.  "What then?"
 
 Everything he wrote was read,
 After certain years he won
 Sufficient money for his need,
 Friends that have been friends indeed;
 "What then?' sang Plato's ghost.  " What then?'
 
 All his happier dreams came true -
 A small old house, wife, daughter, son,
 Grounds where plum and cabbage grew,
 poets and Wits about him drew;
 "What then.?' sang Plato's ghost.  "What then?'
 
 The work is done,' grown old he thought,
 "According to my boyish plan;
 Let the fools rage, I swerved in naught,
 Something to perfection brought';
 But louder sang that ghost, "What then?'