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

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...How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face... When You Are Old And Gray
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Things said or done long years ago Or things I did not do or say But thought that I might say or do, Weigh me down, and not a day But something is recalled, My conscience or my vanity appalled.
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Eyes spiritualised by death can judge, I cannot, but I am not content.
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Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind, That loved his learning better than mankind, Though courteous to the worst much falling he Brooded upon sanctity.
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only an aching heart Conceives a changeless work of art.
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When we are high and airy hundreds say That if we hold that flight they'll leave the place, While those same hundreds mock another day Because we have made our art of common things.
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You know what the Englishman's idea of compromise is? He says, Some people say there is a God. Some people say there is no God. The truth probably lies somewhere between these two statements.
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Time can but make her beauty over again.
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I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.
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All things fall and are built again, And those that build them again are gay.
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Heaven blazing into the head: Tragedy wrought to its uttermost. Though Hamlet rambles and Lear rages And all the drop-scenes drop at once Upon a hundred thousand stages It cannot grow by an inch or an ounce.
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If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
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The Muse is mute when public men Applaud a modern throne.
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The Father and His angelic hierarchy That made the magnitude and glory there Stood in the circuit of a needle's eye.
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A man in his own secret meditation / Is lost amid the labyrinth that he has made / In art or politics.
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Like a long-legged fly upon the stream / His mind moves upon silence.
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And there's a score of duchesses, surpassing womankind, Or who have found a painter to make them so for pay And smooth out stain and blemish with the elegance of his mind: I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.
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Evil comes to us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.
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Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.
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The soul of man is of the imperishable substance of the stars!
William Butler Yeats