Long-Legged Fly by William Butler Yeats : Analysis and Commentary

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

That civilization may not sink,

Its great battle lost,

Quiet the dog, tether the pony

To a distant post;

Our master Caesar is in the tent

Where the maps are spread,

His eyes fixed upon nothing,

A hand upon his head.

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream

His mind moves upon silence.

That the topless towers be burnt

And men recall that face,

Move most gently if move you must

In this lonely place.

She thinks, part woman, three parts a child,

That nobody looks; her feet

Practice a tinker shuffle

Picked up on a street.

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream

Her mind moves upon silence.

That girls at puberty may find

The first Adam in their thought,

Shut the door of the Pope's chapel,

Keep those children out.

There on that scaffolding resides

Michael Angelo.

With no more sound than the mice make

His hand moves to and fro.

Like a long-legged fly upon the stream

His mind moves upon silence.

Commentary

 The first line of this poem alerts us that something of monumental importance—no less than the survival of civilization—is at risk. For this reason, the speaker of the poem asks that precautions be taken against potential distractions. The dog should be silenced, and the pony should be tied to a “distant post.” The next lines introduce the subject of this first stanza. None other than Caesar himself is plotting his next battle. He is in his tent, “where the maps are spread,” but his gaze is “fixed upon nothing.” The “nothing” that he focuses on could be the destruction that will result from the battle to come, the very battle that he is, even now, planning. However, this immediate destruction will have the paradoxical effect of ensuring civilization’s survival, as the opening line contends. To this end, Caesar’s mind, the speaker says, “moves upon the silence” “like a long-legged fly upon the stream,” with quickness and certainty, a fluid movement of consciousness.

 
In the next stanza, the poem moves from Caesar to Helen of Troy, she of the face that launched a thousand ships. Helen’s mother is Leda, the Spartan queen who was raped by Zeus in the guise of a swan. As a result of their union, Helen was born and, upon her abduction, the Trojan War was waged: “A sudden shudder in the loins engenders there/ The broken wall, the burning roof and tower/ And Agamemnon dead.” The line in “Long-Legged Fly,” “That the topless towers be burnt,” recalls the line “The broken wall, the burning roof and tower” from “Leda and the Swan.” This is the same event that Leda, in “Leda and the Swan,” was allowed, perhaps, to see. Now, Helen is beginning to develop her charms. (Here, we see her practicing a dance, whereby, we may suppose, she will develop grace.) Her development will require an uninterrupted silence, just as quiet was needed for Caesar to plot his strategies. That’s why we are asked to “Move most gently if move” we “must/ In this lonely place.”
 

 The third stanza concerns the artist Michelangelo at work on the Sistine Chapel. It may seem amusing that the speaker suggests that the importance of this work will be to ignite lust in young women. “Girls at puberty,” upon viewing the nude men in the artist’s painting will have their first thoughts of men as men—that is, their first sexual thoughts concerning men—“the first Adam in their thought.” However, we should remember that civilization’s continuance is predicated as much—or more—upon such thoughts and their attendant actions as it is on the winning of wars. For the sake of the artist—or perhaps for art’s sake—the speaker, once again, calls for the elimination of all distractions, including not only children but also the Pope himself, who might quarrel with Michelangelo’s use of nudes in his painting:

That girls at puberty may find

The first Adam in their thought,

Shut the door of the Pope's chapel,

Keep those children out.

The chapel is as quiet as a mouse, so to speak, as the great artist works, his mind, like that of both Caesar’s and Helen’s, moving “upon the silence” “like a long-legged fly upon the stream.” 
 

 
A great general, a great beauty, and a great artist—three famous persons of celebrated accomplishment, each in a different area of life—share the same genius, for the mind of each “like a long-legged fly upon the stream/ . . . moves upon silence.” In each case, the genius requires nothing more than silence to perform, since the movement upon that silence is a movement of the mind, which is subjective and unique rather than objective and general. The poem suggests that the rest of us also have a part to play in the accomplishments of such genius. What is more, our part may be neither as small nor as insignificant as it might first seem. It is the ordinary person who is called upon to “quiet the dog,” to “tether the pony,” to “move most gently,” to “shut the door of the Pope’s chapel,” and to “keep those children out” so that the great men and women of genius can exercise their genius. In short, it is we, ordinary men and women, who are called upon to maintain order and to sustain civilization so that, within the peace and quiet afforded by such orderly life, genius can develop and create.