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Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice?

William Butler Yeats

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William Butler Yeats
Age: 73 †
Born: 1865
Born: June 13
Died: 1939
Died: January 28
Astrologer
Mystic
Playwright
Poet
Politician
Writer
Scrooby
Nottinghamshire
W. B. Yeats
William Yeats
W.B. Yeats
Make
Suffice
Miscellaneous
Stone
Stones
Sacrifice
May
Heart
Long

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One man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
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Civilisation is hooped together, brought Under a rule, under the semblance of peace By manifold illusion.
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Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.
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This melancholy London - I sometimes imagine that the souls of the lost are compelled to walk through its streets perpetually. One feels them passing like a whiff of air.
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Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
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Come swish around my pretty punk And keep me dancing still That I may stay a sober man Although I drink my fill.
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I spit into the face of time that has transfigured me
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It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike.
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Between extremities Man runs his course A brand, or flaming breath, Comes to destroy All those antinomies Of day and night.
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Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
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Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age brings the red flare again.
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All hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will
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