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While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.

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
Melancholy
Pity
Came
Love
World
Exultation
Danced
Weariness

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Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.
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Bid imagination run / Much on the Great Questioner / What He can question, what if questioned I / Can with a fitting confidence reply.
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All men live in suffering I know as few can know, Whether they take the upper road Or stay content on the low.
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I long for truth, and yet I cannot stay from that My better self disowns, For a man's attention Brings such satisfaction To the craving in my bones.
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Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate, I find under the boughs of love and hate, In all poor foolish things that live a day, Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
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Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when the abounding hedges ring Declare that winter's best of all: And after that there's nothing good Because the spring time has not come- Not know that what disturbs our blood Is but its longing for the tomb.
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I Sing what was lost and dread what was won, / I walk in a battle fought over again.
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O would, beloved, that you lay Under the dock-leaves in the ground, While lights were paling one by one.
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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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but one loses, as one grows older, something of the lightness of one's dreams one begins to take life up in both hands, and to care more for the fruit than the flower, and that is no great loss perhaps.
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What can books of men that wive In a dragon-guarded land, Paintings of the dolphin-drawn Sea-nymphs in their pearly wagons Do, but awake a hope to live...?
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The innocent and the beautiful have no enemy but time.
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When we have blamed the wind we can blame love.
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Nor bird nor beast Could make me wish for anything this day, Being old, but that the old alone might die, And that would be against God's Providence.
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