Quote

I broke my heart in two So hard I struck. What matter? for I know That out of rock, Out of a desolate source, Love leaps upon its course.

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
Love
Source
Courses
Leaps
Course
Desolate
Upon
Struck
Two
Leap
Matter
Broke
Hard
Rock
Heart
Rocks

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What can I but enumerate old themes?
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If what I say resonates with you, it's merely because we're branches of the same tree.
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Art bids us touch and taste and hear and see the world, and shrinks from what Blake calls mathematic form, from every abstract form, from all that is of the brain only.
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I had a chair at every hearth, When no one turned to see, With 'Look at that old fellow there, 'And who may he be?
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now I bring full-flavoured wine out of a barrel found Where seven Ephesian topers slept and never knew When Alexander's empire passed, they slept so sound.
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In dreams begins responsibility.
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In mockery I have set A powerful emblem up, And sing it rhyme upon rhyme In mockery of a time Half dead at the top.
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Everything exists, everything is true and the earth is just a bit of dust beneath our feet.
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I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young / And weep because I know all things now.
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even The bed of love, that in the imagination Had seemed to be the giver of all peace, Is no more than a wine-cup in the tasting, And as soon finished.
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There is another world, but it is in this one.
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Acquaintance companion One dear brilliant woman The best-endowed, the elect, All by their youth undone, All, all, by that inhuman Bitter glory wrecked.
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I went out to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head.
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I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs, Those undreamt accidents that have made me Seeing that Fame has perished this long while, Being but a part of ancient ceremony Notorious, till all my priceless things Are but a post the passing dogs defile.
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I'm looking for the face I had, before the world was made.
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Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.
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Too many things are occurring for even a big heart to hold.
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Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
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All hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will
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