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Nor bird nor beast Could make me wish for anything this day, Being old, but that the old alone might die, And that would be against God's Providence.

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
Anything
Might
Providence
Make
Beast
Would
Aging
Bird
Alone
Dies
Wish

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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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There is no deformity But saves us from a dream.
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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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If Michael, leader of God's host When Heaven and Hell are met, Looked down on you from Heaven's door-post He would his deeds forget.
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I have believed the best of every man. And find that to believe is enough to make a bad man show him at his best, or even a good man swings his lantern higher.
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I went out to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head.
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Though logic-choppers rule the town, And every man and maid and boy Has marked a distant object down, An aimless joy is a pure joy.
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Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field where men hang out their garments upon forked boughs to be banners of battle. O beloved daughter of Hope and Memory, be with me for a while.
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In dreams begin responsibilitiy.
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I thought no more was needed Youth to prolong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. O who could have foretold That the heart grows old?
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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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For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.
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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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Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.
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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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And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
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I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary, Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeler.
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Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?
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And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.
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