Quote

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.

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
Enough
Passion
Lips
Plummet
Love
Face
Girls
Beds
Faces
Youth
Pressed
Upon
Boys
Measured
Girl
Bring
Imagined
Place
Knew
Pale
Character
Imagination
Solitary
Live
Public
Bed

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Pale brows, still hands and dim hair, I had a beautiful friend And dreamed that the old despair Would end in love in the end.
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I balanced all, brought all to mind, the years to come seemed waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind, in balance with this life, this death.
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Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.
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Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.
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Once more the storm is howling, and half hid Under this cradle-hood and coverlid My child sleeps on.
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No man has ever lived that had enough of children's gratitude or woman's love.
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What if the Church and the State Are the mob that howls at the door! Wine shall run thick to the end, Bread taste sour.
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It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat.
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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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Hurrah for revolution and cannon come again! The beggars have changed places, but the lash goes on.
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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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Words alone are certain good.
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I weave the shoes of Sorrow: Soundless shall be the footfall light In all men's ears of Sorrow, Sudden and light.
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It seems to me that true love is a discipline.
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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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We have fallen in the dreams the ever-living Breathe on the tarnished mirror of the world, And then smooth out with ivory hands and sigh.
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Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the leveling wind.
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Like a long-legged fly upon the stream / His mind moves upon silence.
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Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
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