Quote

The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.

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
Years
Passing
Time
God
Like
Behinds
World
Broken
Goads
Behind
Oxen
Feet
Yeast
Black
Tread
Great
Passings

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Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while.
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Why should the imagination of a man Long past his prime remember things that are Emblematical of love and war?
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It's certain there are trout somewhere - And maybe I shall take a trout - but I do not seem to care.
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I summon to the winding ancient stair Set all your mind upon the steep ascent
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I thought of rhyme alone, For rhyme can beat a measure out of trouble And make the daylight sweet once more.
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Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.
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A strange thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought Upon the Norman upland or in that poplar shade, Should find no burden but itself and yet should be worn out. It could not bear that burden and therefore it went mad.
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I can exchange opinion with any neighbouring mind, I have as healthy flesh and blood as any rhymer's had, But O! my Heart could bear no more when the upland caught the wind I ran, I ran, from my love's side because my Heart went mad.
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By logic and reason we die hourly by imagination we live.
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What's memory but the ash That chokes our fires that have begun to sink?
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Myself I must remake.
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If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror, No vanity's displayed: I'm looking for the face I had Before the world was made.
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I weave the shoes of Sorrow: Soundless shall be the footfall light In all men's ears of Sorrow, Sudden and light.
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If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.
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For what but eye and ear silence the mind With the minute particulars of mankind?
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Every conquering temptation represents a new fund of moral energy. Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before.
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If what I say resonates with you, it's merely because we're branches of the same tree.
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For how can you compete Being honour bred, with one Who, were it proved he lies, Were neither shamed in his own Nor in his neighbour's eyes?
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Once more the storm is howling, and half hid Under this cradle-hood and coverlid My child sleeps on.
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even The bed of love, that in the imagination Had seemed to be the giver of all peace, Is no more than a wine-cup in the tasting, And as soon finished.
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