Easter, 1916

“Easter, 1916” begins by establishing the voice of the speaker, whom the reader can understand as Yeats himself, and his relationship to the martyrs of the Easter Rising. He writes: “I have met them at close of day / Coming with vivid faces / From counter or desk among grey / Eighteenth-century houses” (Lines 1-4). In these first four lines, Yeats creates the rhythm and meter of the poem, a kind of iambic trimeter (although it varies throughout the poem) with an ABAC rhyming structure. He tells the reader that he is acquainted with these rebels in a casual way, having encountered them on the streets of Dublin as they leave their “counter or desk” (Line 3) at the end of a workday.

Yeats elaborates on the small interactions he has had with the rebels, saying that these interactions have generally consisted of “a nod of the head / Or polite meaningless words” (Lines 5-6). He emphasizes this lack of connection with the repetition of the phrase “polite meaningless words” (Line 8) a few lines later. Not only did Yeats feel a certain amount of polite, aloof indifference towards this group, he adopted a sense of light mockery or judgment toward their political methods, noting that after encountering them, he would often think “Of a mocking tale or a gibe / To please a companion / Around the fire at the club, / Being certain that they and I / But lived where motley is worn” (Lines 10-14). Yeats took a joking, casual attitude toward these men and women, believing that they, like him, lived normal lives with nothing important to set them apart from everyday people. The Easter Rising changed this “utterly” (Line 15), and Yeats sets up the changing attitude he will adopt in the rest of the poem with the stanza’s final claim: “A terrible beauty is born” (Line 16).

In the second stanza, Yeats describes several victims of the Rising, beginning with a woman whose “days were spent / In ignorant good-will” (Lines 17-18). The speaker’s descriptions of the rebels embody his ambivalence toward them, both before and after the Rising. He disagrees with the woman’s political methods, noting that while well-intentioned, she remained ignorant. He claims that she spent “nights in argument / Until her voice grew shrill” (Lines 19-20), suggesting that he believes her political or theoretical arguments were incorrect or useless. Despite these opinions, the speaker changes his tone, asking, “What voice more sweet than hers / When, young and beautiful, / She rode to harriers?” (Lines 21-23). He acknowledges her underlying beauty and lingers on the youthful image of her in a natural setting, riding on a horse during a hunt.

Yeats next elegizes two poets, one a teacher, noting the value they had in their professions. The teacher “rode our wingèd horse” (Line 25), and his friend “Was coming into his force; / He might have won fame in the end” (Lines 27-28). The speaker muses on the other talents and skills these men had, and how they might have continued to give back to their communities. His final elegy is for a man he feels less positive about, calling him “A drunken, vainglorious lout” (Line 32) who had “done most bitter wrong / To some who are near my heart” (Lines 33-34). Likely John MacBride, the ex-husband of Yeats’ longtime lover Maud Gonne, the speaker acknowledges his strong dislike and rebuke for this figure but nevertheless includes him in the group of people worthy of elegy. He specifically claims that despite this man’s shortcomings, Yeats will “number him in the song” (Line 35) because “He, too, has resigned his part / In the casual comedy; / He, too, has been changed in his turn, / Transformed utterly” (Lines 36-39). Yeats emphasizes MacBride’s shift from everyman in the “casual comedy” to a figure committed to a particular cause, as well as a martyr, and for those reasons, Yeats finds him worthy of elegy. He reiterates the refrain, “A terrible beauty is born” (Line 40), at the end of this stanza, drawing further attention to his ambivalent sentiments as he both struggles to understand the value of these lost lives and respects their determination and quest for liberty.

In the third stanza, Yeats shifts his imagery to evoke a more mythical, natural setting. He claims the martyrs had “Hearts with one purpose alone” (Line 41) and writes that these hearts “Through summer and winter seem / Enchanted to a stone / To trouble the living stream” (Lines 42-44). This metaphor emphasizes the single-minded determination of the rebels, comparing them to solid rock. While the “living stream” (Line 44) continues to flow around it, they remain resolute in their perspectives, something that Yeats feels ambivalent about, and probably was at the root of the lack of connection he feels with the rebels in the first stanza of the poem. The speaker goes on to describe other creatures and living things in the natural world that constantly evolve and change: “The horse that comes from the road, / The rider, the birds that range / From cloud to tumbling cloud, / Minute by minute they change” (Lines 45-48). The rest of the world is less concrete and static than the rebels and their perspective, and the speaker wonders if this constant evolution means that the rebels are wrong in their determined attempts. He further describes images of a horse and hens, noting that all these things live and change “minute by minute” (Lines 48, 50, 55), and “The stone’s in the midst of all” (Line 56). The rebels are steadfast and unchanging, and therefore perhaps incapable of flexibly attending to the evolving needs of their community.

Yeats’ fourth stanza expounds upon his questioning ambivalence. He begins by saying, “Too long a sacrifice / Can make a stone of the heart. / O when may it suffice? / That is Heaven’s part” (Lines 57-60). He declares that humans cannot determine what sacrifices are worthy; that is the job for a spiritual or divine power. Rather, “our part” (Line 60) is “To murmur name upon name, / As a mother names her child” (Lines 61-62). Although Yeats is not sure how he feels about the rebels’ tactics, he nevertheless believes that commemorating them is necessary and important, that the act of naming each martyr humanizes them and asserts them as an active participant in history. He ponders the nature of their actions and their deaths, wondering, “Was it needless death after all?” (Line 67). He notes that if England gives Ireland the independence they seek, the rebels’ deaths might seem meaningless. He spends the next few lines vacillating between the value of the rebels’ lives, dreams, and deaths, asking finally, “what if excess of love / Bewildered them till they died?” (Lines 72-73), positing the idea that their extreme adherence to a single-minded view, this love of country and liberty, might have done more harm than good.

Ultimately, Yeats returns to the idea that naming these rebels is the only thing he can do or assert. He says plainly, “I write it out in a verse” (Line 74), and then specifically names four people: “MacDonagh and MacBride / And Connolly and Pearse” (Lines 75-76), all important leaders of the Rising, memorializing them on the page, in verse, and noting that they have left an indelible mark on Irish history. He says, “Now and in time to be, / Wherever green is worn, / [they] Are changed, changed utterly” (Lines 77-79). Regardless of Yeats’ personal opinions on the rebels’ methods, he emphasizes that they have created unalterable change for themselves and also for Ireland. He finishes the poem with the refrain, “A terrible beauty is born” (Line 80), hammering home the idea that the admirable elements of the rebels and the Rising are inextricably linked with violence and sorrow.