The poem
The light of evening, Lissadell, Great windows open to the south, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle. But a raving autumn shears Blossom from the summer's wreath; The older is condemned to death, Pardoned, drags out lonely years Conspiring among the ignorant. I know not what the younger dreams - Some vague Utopia - and she seems, When withered old and skeleton-gaunt, An image of such politics. Many a time I think to seek One or the other out and speak Of that old Georgian mansion, mix pictures of the mind, recall That table and the talk of youth, Two girls in silk kimonos, both Beautiful, one a gazelle.
Dear shadows, now you know it all, All the folly of a fight With a common wrong or right. The innocent and the beautiful. Have no enemy but time; Arise and bid me strike a match And strike another till time catch; Should the conflagration climb, Run till all the sages know. We the great gazebo built, They convicted us of guilt; Bid me strike a match and blow.
This poem shows Yeats' wonderful craftsmanship. The evocative opening lines always give me a spine-chill. But I think the poet is very cruel to the two women in question, who in later life were highly dedicated campaigners for women's rights and Irish independence. Yeats sees time as being totally destructive and wishes to burn it away, but he over-estimates the power of his poetry. I doubt that these two women ever felt that they had wasted their lives on unworthy causes.