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I have often had the fancy that there is some one Myth for every man, which, if we but knew it, would make us understand all he did and thought.

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
Knew
Understand
Often
Thought
Every
Make
Would
Fancy
Men
Myth

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Let the new faces play what tricks they will In the old rooms night can outbalance day, Our shadows rove the garden gravel still, The living seem more shadowy than they.
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What do we know but that we face one another in this place?
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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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I have mummy truths to tell Whereat the living mock, Though not for sober ear, For maybe all that hear Should laugh and weep an hour upon the clock.
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All that could run or leap or swim Whether in wood, water or cloud, Acclaiming, proclaiming, declaiming Him.
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If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.
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Bodies of holy men and women exude Miraculous oil, odour of violet. But under heavy loads of trampled clay Lie bodies of the vampires full of blood Their shrouds are bloody and their lips are wet.
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There are a few of the open-air spirits the more domestic of their tribe gather within-doors, plentiful as swallows under southern eaves.
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That beautiful mild woman for whose sake There's many a one shall find out all heartache On finding that her voice is sweet and low Replied, 'To be born a woman is to know- Although they do not talk of it at school - That we must labor to be beautiful.
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Because I helped to wind the clock, I come to hear it strike.
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John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought All that we did, all that we said or sang Must come from contact with the soil, from that Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong.
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What can I but enumerate old themes?
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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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How can they know Truth flourishes where the student's lamp has shone, And there alone, that have no solitude? So the crowd come they care not what may come. They have loud music, hope every day renewed And heartier loves that lamp is from the tomb.
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The common breeds the common, A lout begets a lout, So when I take on half a score I knock their heads about.
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Whatever flames upon the night Man's own resinous heart has fed.
William Butler Yeats
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I heard the old, old, men say 'all that's beautiful drifts away, like the waters.'
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If there's no hatred in a mind Assault and battery of the wind Can never tear the linnet from the leaf
William Butler Yeats
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Life moves out of a red flare of dreams Into a common light of common hours, Until old age brings the red flare again.
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Myself I must remake.
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