Yo, Yeats

The New Republic tries to make use of its backlist; it scans in and posts online among  its other articles its old triumphs from old Nobelists, as so:

Seven Poems

BY W.B. YEATS

October 23, 1930

Girl’s Song

I went out alone
To sing a song or two,
My fancy on a man
And you know who.

Another came in sight
That on a stick relied
To hold himself upright,
I sat and cried.

And that was all my song—
When everything is told
Saw I an old man yo’ing
Or young man old?

The problem being, as here, that either they don't read them once scanned or that they don't have anyone in the building who's ever read Yeats or, indeed, anybody else. The death of the editor.