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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

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
Poets
Gay
Sick
Poet
Poetry
Fiddle
Heard
Palette
Women
Hysterical
Always
Bows

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When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.
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But O, sick children of the world, Of all the many changing things In dreary dancing past us whirled, To the cracked tune that Chronos sings, Words alone are certain good.
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The labor of the alchemists, who were called artist in their day, is a befitting comparison for a deliberate change of style.
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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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Locke sank into a swoon The Garden died God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.
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There is no release In a bodkin or disease, Nor can there be a work so great As that which cleans man's dirty slate.
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For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose.
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Why should we honour those that die upon the field of battle? A man may show as reckless a courage in entering into the abyss of himself.
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Great Powers of falling wave and wind and windy fire, With your harmonious choir Encircle her I love and sing her into peace, That my old care may cease.
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Earth in beauty dressed Awaits returning spring. All true love must die, Alter at the best Into some lesser thing. Prove that I lie.
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We can make our minds so like still water that beings gather about us that they may see, it may be, their own images, and so live for a moment with a clearer, perhaps even with a fiercer life because of our quiet.
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Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams, Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
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Florence Farr once said to me, If we could say to ourselves, with sincerity, 'this passing moment is as good as any I shall ever know,' we could die upon the instant and be united with God.
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While on that old grey stone I sat Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate phantasy.
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Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
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Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.
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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?
William Butler Yeats
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We have fallen in the dreams the ever-living Breathe on the tarnished mirror of the world, And then smooth out with ivory hands and sigh.
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Think where man's glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.
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A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
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