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My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics, Ere Time transfigured me.
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
Fire
Company
Politics
Transfigured
Every
Triviality
Time
Nearest
Love
Chair
Chairs
Talked
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The best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity.
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Shakespearean fish swam the sea, far away from land Romantic fish swam in nets coming to the hand.
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It is not permitted to a man, who takes up pen or chisel, to seek originality, for passion is his only business, and he cannot but mould or sing after a new fashion because no disaster is like another.
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A spot whereon the founders lived and died Seemed once more dear than life ancestral trees, Or gardens rich in memory glorified Marriages, alliances, and families, And every bride's ambition satisfied.
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The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart.
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Locke sank into a swoon The Garden died God took the spinning-jenny Out of his side.
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rhetoric is will doing the work of imagination.
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I have observed dreams and visions very carefully, and am now certain that the imagination has some way of lighting on the truth that the reason has not, and that its commandments, delivered when the body is still and the reason silent, are the most binding we can ever know.
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Though I have many words, What woman's satisfied, I am no longer faint Because at her side? O who could have foretold That the heart grows old?
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But stories that live longest Are sung above the glass, And Parnell loved his country And Parnell loved his lass.
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Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.
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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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Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
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I summon to the winding ancient stair Set all your mind upon the steep ascent
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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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I see a schoolboy when I think of him, With face and nose pressed to a sweet-shop window.
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The winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood.
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And wisdom is a butterfly And not a gloomy bird of prey.
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The world being illusive, one must be deluded in some way if one is to triumph in it.
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A passion-driven exultant man sings out Sentences that he has never thought.
William Butler Yeats
