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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.

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
Times
Paradise
Running
Brown
Years
Beer
Red
Rivers
Fruit
Year
Boughs
Age
Blossom

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somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
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We are fastened to a dying animal.
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And God would bid His warfare cease, Saying all things were well And softly make a rosy peace, A peace of Heaven with Hell.
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Some burn damp faggots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room.
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A lonely impulse of delight
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I call on those that call me son, Grandson, or great-grandson, On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts, To judge what I have done. Have I, that put it into words, Spoilt what old loins have sent?
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I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs, For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes.
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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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May we two stand, When we are dead, beyond the setting suns, A little from other shades apart, With mingling hair, and play upon one lute.
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Many times man lives and dies Betweeen his two eternities, That of race and that of soul, And ancient Ireland knew it all. Whether man die in his bed Or the rifle knocks him dead
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Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
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But boys and girls, pale from the imagined love Of solitary beds, knew what they were, That passion could bring character enough And pressed at midnighht in some public place Live lips upon a plummet-measured face.
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It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much laboring.
William Butler Yeats
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Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned.
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There is another world, but it is in this one.
William Butler Yeats
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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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The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
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For what but eye and ear silence the mind With the minute particulars of mankind?
William Butler Yeats
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Come, fix upon me that accusing eye. I thirst for accusation. All that was sung. All that was said in Ireland is a lie Breed out of the contagion of the throng, Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
William Butler Yeats