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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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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
Society
Corners
Doe
Soldier
Back
Deep
Soul
Courage
Fight
Takes
Alleys
Dark
Battlefield
Fighting
Battlefields

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Hearts with one purpose alone/Through summer and winter seem/Enchanted to a stone/To trouble the living stream.
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My father upon the Abbey stage, before him a raging crowd. This Land of Saints, and then as the applause died out, Of plaster Saints his beautiful mischievous head thrown back.
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Surely among a rich man's flowering lawns, Amid the rustle of his planted hills, Life overflows without ambitious pains And rains down life until the basin spills, And mounts more dizzy high the more it rains As though to choose whatever shape it wills.
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Many ingenious lovely things are gone / That seemed sheer miracle to the multitude.
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Everything we look upon is blest.
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I, too, await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. When shall the stars be blown about the sky, Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
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A living man is blind and drinks his drop. What matter if the ditches are impure? What matter if I live it all once more?
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The world being illusive, one must be deluded in some way if one is to triumph in it.
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Come near I would, before my time to go, Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways: Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.
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The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.
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I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.
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All art that is not mere storytelling, or mere portraiture, is symbolic, and has the purpose of those symbolic talismans which medieval magicians made with complex colours and forms, and bade their patients ponder over daily, and guard with holy secrecy for it entangles, in complex colours and forms, a part of the Divine Essence.
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I would that I were an old beggar Rolling a blind pearl eye, For he cannot see my lady Go gallivanting by.
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When I play on my fiddle in Dooney Folk dance like a wave on the sea.
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If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror, No vanity's displayed: I'm looking for the face I had Before the world was made.
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Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.
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Though leaves are many, the root is one.
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Mock mockers after that That would not lift a hand maybe To help good, wise or great To bar that foul storm out, for we Traffic in mockery.
William Butler Yeats
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I had a chair at every hearth, When no one turned to see, With 'Look at that old fellow there, 'And who may he be?
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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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