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Poetry and music I have banished, But the stupidity Of root, shoot, blossom or clay Makes no demand. I bend my body to the spade Or grope with a dirty hand.

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
Body
Roots
Spades
Music
Musician
Blossom
Demand
Bend
Poet
Clay
Poetry
Root
Hand
Shoot
Grope
Makes
Stupidity
Spade
Hands
Dirty
Banished

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The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.
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When I play on my fiddle in Dooney Folk dance like a wave on the sea.
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Though leaves are many, the root is one.
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All the great masters have understood that there cannot be great art without the little limited life of the fable, which is always better the simpler it is, and the rich, far-wandering, many-imaged life of the half-seen world beyond it
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All things fall and are built again, And those that build them again are gay.
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Sweetheart, do not love too long: I loved long and long, And grew to be out of fashion Like an old song.
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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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The falcon cannot hear the falconer
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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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In life courtesy and self-possession, and in the arts style, are the sensible impressions of the free mind, for both arise out of a deliberate shaping of all things and from never being swept away, whatever the emotion into confusion or dullness.
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The women take so little stock In what I do or say They'd sooner leave their cosseting To hear a jackass bray.
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The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
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Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.
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Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.
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now I bring full-flavoured wine out of a barrel found Where seven Ephesian topers slept and never knew When Alexander's empire passed, they slept so sound.
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My soul had found All happiness in its own cause or ground. Godhead on Godhead in sexual spasm begot Godhead. Some shadow fell. My soul forgot Those amorous cries that out of quiet come And must the common round of day resume.
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Odor of blood when Christ was slain Made all Platonic tolerance vain And vain all Doric discipline.
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From our birthday, until we die, Is but the winking of an eye.
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If a powerful and benevolent spirit has shaped the destiny of this world, we can better discover that destiny from the words that have gathered up the heart's desire of the world, than from historical records, or from speculation, wherein the heart withers.
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We are no petty people. We are one of the great stocks of Burke we are the people of Swift, the people of Emmet, the people of Parnell. We have created most of the modern literature of this country. We have created the best of its political intelligence.
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