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Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest.
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
Fall
Deep
Breasts
Heart
Hair
Beloved
Love
Rest
Beat
Eyes
Lovers
Hours
Beats
Half
Lonely
Drowning
Eye
Hour
Breast
Peace
Close
Twilight
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I would have touched it like a child But knew my finger could but have touched Cold stone and water. I grew wild, Even accusing heaven because It had set down among its laws: Nothing that we love over-much Is ponderable to our touch.
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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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Does the imagination dwell the most Upon a woman won or a woman lost?
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I would that there was nothing in the world But my beloved that night and day had perished, And all that is and all that is to be, All that is not the meeting of our lips.
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How can they know Truth flourishes where the student's lamp has shone, And there alone, that have no solitude? So the crowd come they care not what may come. They have loud music, hope every day renewed And heartier loves that lamp is from the tomb.
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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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I have grown to believe that there is no dangerous idea, which does not become less dangerous when written out in sincere and careful English.
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Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.
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Some burn damp faggots, others may consume The entire combustible world in one small room.
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Although our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of gentleness. When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
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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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The things a man has heard and seen are threads of life, and if he pull them carefully from the confused distaff of memory, any who will can weave them into whatever garments of belief please them best. I too have woven my garment like another, but I shall try to keep warm in it, and shall be well content if it do not unbecome me.
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... Let the cage bird and the cage bird mate and the wild bird mate in the wild.
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What the world's million lips are searching for, must be substantial somewhere.
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Love comes in at the eye.
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