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The women that I picked spoke sweet and low And yet gave tongue. Hound voices were they all.
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
Sweet
Hounds
Voice
Spokes
Women
Spoke
Picked
Voices
Tongue
Lows
Gave
Hound
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If suffering brings wisdom, I would wish to be less wise.
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And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
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I have nothing but the embittered sun Banished heroic mother moon and vanished, And now that I have come to fifty years I must endure the timid sun.
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Maybe the bride-bed brings despair, For each an imagined image brings And finds a real image there...
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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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I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatched The sooner love is gone.
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I am haunted by numberless islands, many a Danaan shore, Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no moreSoon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be, Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!
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In dreams begin responsibilitiy.
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And there's a score of duchesses, surpassing womankind, Or who have found a painter to make them so for pay And smooth out stain and blemish with the elegance of his mind: I knew a phoenix in my youth, so let them have their day.
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And God stands winding His lonely horn, And time and the world are ever in flight.
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We are happy when for everything inside us there is a corresponding something outside us.
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God spreads the heavens above us like great wings, And gives a little round of deeds and days.
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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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I had this thought a while ago, My darling cannot understand What I have done, or what would do In this blind bitter land. And I grew weary of the sun
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Whence had they come The hand and lash that beat down frigid Rome? What sacred drama through her body heaved When world-transforming Charlemagne was conceived?
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The tragedy of sexual intercourse is the perpetual virginity of the soul.
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I can exchange opinion with any neighbouring mind, I have as healthy flesh and blood as any rhymer's had, But O! my Heart could bear no more when the upland caught the wind I ran, I ran, from my love's side because my Heart went mad.
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We are fastened to a dying animal.
William Butler Yeats
But bear in mind your lover's wage Is what your looking-glass can show, And that he will turn green with rage At all that is not pictured there.
William Butler Yeats
The night can sweat with terror as before We pieced our thoughts into philosophy, And planned to bring the world under a rule, Who are but weasels fighting in a hole.
William Butler Yeats
