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Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?

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
Doe
Dwell
Losing
Imagination
Upon
Woman
Lost

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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.
William Butler Yeats
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I made my song a coat Covered with embroideries Out of old mythologies From heel to throat But the fools caught it, Wore it in the world's eyes As though they'd wrought it. Song, let them take it, For there's more enterprise In walking naked.
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What man does not understand, he fears and what he fears, he tends to destroy.
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It takes more courage to dig deep in the dark corners of your own soul and the back alleys of your society than it does for a soldier to fight on the battlefield.
William Butler Yeats
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A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
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Education is not the filling of a pail, but the lighting of a fire.
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No art can conquer the people alone-the people are conquered by an ideal of life upheld by authority.
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Because of something told under the famished horn Of the hunter's moon, that hung between the night and the day, To dream of women whose beauty was folded in dismay, Even in an old story, is a burden not to be borne.
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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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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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Chaunt in his ear delusions magical, That he may fight the horses of the sea. The Druids took them to their mystery, And chaunted for three days.
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When I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.
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O heart, we are old The living beauty is for younger men: We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.
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Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
William Butler Yeats
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O would, beloved, that you lay Under the dock-leaves in the ground, While lights were paling one by one.
William Butler Yeats
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I think you can leave the arts, superior or inferior, to the conscience of mankind.
William Butler Yeats
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Land of Heart's Desire Where beauty has no ebb, decay no flood, But joy is wisdom, time an endless song.
William Butler Yeats
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Words alone are certain good.
William Butler Yeats
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Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
William Butler Yeats
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From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.
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