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Hurrah for revolution and cannon come again! The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on.
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
Changed
Cannon
Come
Beggars
Cannons
Lashes
Beggar
Places
Hurrah
Revolution
Lash
Goes
Horseback
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
O heart! O heart! if she'd but turn her head You'd know the folly of being comforted.
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And when you sigh from kiss to kiss I hear white Beauty sighing, too, For hours when all must fade like dew.
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All that could run or leap or swim Whether in wood, water or cloud, Acclaiming, proclaiming, declaiming Him.
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The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.
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The Danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold, And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes, For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies, With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold.
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I went out to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head.
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For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose.
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The wind blows out of the gates of the day, The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.
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Love comes in at the eye.
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Man can embody truth but he cannot know it.
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Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.
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Accursed who brings to light of day the writings I have cast away.
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When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.
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A lonely impulse of delight
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O what fine thought we had because we thought that the worst rogues and rascals had died out.
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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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What can be explained is not poetry.
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I Sing what was lost and dread what was won, / I walk in a battle fought over again.
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Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.
William Butler Yeats
