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We poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk about women with. Letter to Olivia Shakespeare, 1936
William Butler Yeats
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William Butler Yeats
Age: 73 †
Born: 1865
Born: June 13
Died: 1939
Died: January 28
Astrologer
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Poet
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Scrooby
Nottinghamshire
W. B. Yeats
William Yeats
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Shakespeare
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
The blessed spirits must be sought within the self which is common to all
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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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I have heard that hysterical women say They are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow, Of poets that are always gay
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Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns? I have been changed to a hound with one red ear I have been in the Path of Stones and the Wood of Thorns.
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Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
William Butler Yeats
And learn that the best thing is To change my loves while dancing And pay but a kiss for a kiss.
William Butler Yeats
Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?
William Butler Yeats
But boys and girls, pale from the imagined love Of solitary beds, knew what they were, That passion could bring character enough And pressed at midnighht in some public place Live lips upon a plummet-measured face.
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I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young / And weep because I know all things now.
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Acquaintance companion One dear brilliant woman The best-endowed, the elect, All by their youth undone, All, all, by that inhuman Bitter glory wrecked.
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Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.
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The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart.
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How could passion run so deep Had I never thought That the crime of being born Blackens all our lot?
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I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.
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The night can sweat with terror as before We pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under a rule, Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.
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I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fadeand flee And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky, Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
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I would that there was nothing in the world But my beloved that night and day had perished, And all that is and all that is to be, All that is not the meeting of our lips.
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Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?
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But I, being poor, have only my dreams I have spread my dreams under your feet Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
William Butler Yeats
And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.
William Butler Yeats
