Chained to a dying animal

Yeats is sneaky. One might think he's all horoscopes and fates of civilization and silliness - and then there emerges human profoundities rather effortlessly. No, one is not one's body, never was, even if at the best moments there was a close correlation. And once out of nature we might gain ourselves by being able to reach beyond ourselves, as empirically impossible as it is in this world that we thus cannot accept. No, I'm not sure if this makes sense, if he does, but one is certainly inclined towards that direction.