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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.
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
Things
Literature
Sings
Time
Words
Cracked
World
Language
Tune
Past
Tunes
Certain
Changing
Many
Dancing
Children
Sick
Whirled
Good
Alone
Dreary
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
Cuchulain stirred, Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard The cars of battle and his own name cried And fought with the invulnerable tide.
William Butler Yeats
Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.
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Before me floats an image, man or shade, / Shade more than man, more image than a shade.
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Test every work of intellect or faith and everything that your own hands have wrought.
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Every conquering temptation represents a new fund of moral energy. Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before.
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In luck or out the toil has left its mark: That old perplexity an empty purse, Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse.
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It is so many years before one can believe enough in what one feels even to know what the feeling is
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Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come, Dancing to a frenzied drum, Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
William Butler Yeats
Maybe the bride-bed brings despair, For each an imagined image brings And finds a real image there...
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The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
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Boughs have their fruit and blossom At all times of the year Rivers are running over With red beer and brown beer.
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O would, beloved, that you lay Under the dock-leaves in the ground, While lights were paling one by one.
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Shakespearean fish swam the sea, far away from land Romantic fish swam in nets coming to the hand.
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When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side, The vinegar-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kedron stream.
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It seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.
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Swift has sailed into his rest Savage indignation there Cannot lacerate his breast Imitate him if you dare, World-besotted traveler he Served human liberty.
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When we have blamed the wind we can blame love.
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The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
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Talent perceives differences genius, unity.
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I--though heart might find relief Did I become a Christian man and choose for my belief What seems most welcome in the tomb--play a predestined part. Homer is my example and his unchristened heart.
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