Quote

I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow And then I must scrub and bake and sweep Till the stars are beginning to blink and peep And the young lie long and dream in their bed.

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
Fire
Dawn
Bake
Stars
Aging
Kneel
Lying
Seeds
Flicker
Dream
Till
Sweep
Young
Rise
Blink
Must
Bed
Glow
Peep
Work
Blow
Seed
Long
Beginning
Motherhood
Scrub

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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.
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For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
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Man can embody truth but he cannot know it.
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It seems that I must bid the Muse to pack, / Choose Plato and Plotinus for a friend / Until imagination, ear and eye, / Can be content with argument and deal / In abstract things or be derided by / A sort of battered kettle at the heel.
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The Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.
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Though leaves are many, the root is one Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun Now I may wither into the truth.
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Choose your companions from the best Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.
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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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Some burn damp faggots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room.
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An intellectual hate is the worst.
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Grant me an old man's frenzy, Myself must I remake Till I am Timon and Lear Or that William Blake Who beat upon the wall Till Truth obeyed his call.
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If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
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All that we did, all that we said or sang must come from contact with the soil.
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The pain others give passes away in their later kindness, but that of our own blunders, especially when they hurt our vanity, never passes away
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It is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike.
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I am content to live it all again And yet again, if it be life to pitch Into the frog-spawn of a blind man's ditch.
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O heart the winds have shaken, the unappeasable host Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary's feet.
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What the world's million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.
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