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And God stands winding His lonely horn, And time and the world are ever in flight.
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
Flight
Loneliness
Lonely
Ever
Time
Winding
World
Horn
Horns
Stands
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And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his 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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There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
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A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
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Life is a journey up a spiral staircase as we grow older we cover the ground covered we have covered before, only higher up as we look down the winding stair below us we measure our progress by the number of places where we were but no longer are. The journey is both repetitious and progressive we go both round and upward.
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What can be shown? What true love be? All could be known or shown If Time were but gone.
William Butler Yeats
THOUGH you are in your shining days, Voices among the crowd And new friends busy with your praise, Be not unkind or proud, But think about old friends the most: Time's bitter flood will rise, Your beauty perish and be lost For all eyes but these eyes.
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While man can still his body keep Wine or love drug him to sleep, Waking he thanks the Lord that he Has body and its stupidity.
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Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
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In mockery I have set A powerful emblem up, And sing it rhyme upon rhyme In mockery of a time Half dead at the top.
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Cast a cold eye on life, on death Horseman pass by
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Some burn damp faggots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room As though dried straw, and if we turn about The bare chimney is gone black out Because the work had finished in that flare.
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In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages there are no minorities people are not numerous enough. You must see the world there, perforce. Every man is himself a class.
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The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.
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For what but eye and ear silence the mind With the minute particulars of mankind?
William Butler Yeats
Fair and foul are near of kin And fair needs foul, I cried. My friends are gone, but that's a truth Nor grave nor bed denied.
William Butler Yeats
Nor seek, for this is also sooth, To hunger fiercely after truth, Lest all thy toiling only breeds New dreams, new dreams there is no truth Saving in thine own heart.
William Butler Yeats
Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
William Butler Yeats
I have no question: It is enough, I know what fixed the station Of star and cloud. And knowing all, I cry. . . .
William Butler Yeats
