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I--love's skein upon the ground, My body in the tomb-- Shall leap into the light lost In my mother's womb.

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
Longing
Ground
Shall
Upon
Skein
Lost
Tomb
Mother
Tombs
Light
Womb
Body
Leap

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Hammer your thoughts into unity.
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on the instant clamorous eaves, A climbing moon upon an empty sky, And all that lamentation of the leaves, Could but compose man's image and his cry.
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For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose.
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If there's no hatred in a mind Assault and battery of the wind Can never tear the linnet from the leaf
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Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
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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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For what but eye and ear silence the mind With the minute particulars of mankind?
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Though leaves are many, the root is one.
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Being Irish, he had an abiding sense of tragedy, which sustained him through temporary periods of joy.
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A drunkard is a dead man And all dead men are drunk.
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We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush, We are but critics, or but half create.
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Words are always getting conventionalized to some secondary meaning. It is one of the works of poetry to take the truants in custody and bring them back to their right senses.
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The soldier takes pride in saluting his Captain, The devotee proffers a knee to his Lord, Some back a mare thrown from a thoroughbred, Troy backed its Helen, Troy died and adored Great nations blossom above, A slave bows down to a slave.
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Surely among a rich man's flowering lawns, Amid the rustle of his planted hills, Life overflows without ambitious pains And rains down life until the basin spills, And mounts more dizzy high the more it rains As though to choose whatever shape it wills.
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And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
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Cuchulain stirred, Stared on the horses of the sea, and heard The cars of battle and his own name cried And fought with the invulnerable tide.
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If Michael, leader of God's host When Heaven and Hell are met, Looked down on you from Heaven's door-post He would his deeds forget.
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Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. . . .
William Butler Yeats
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Lionel Johnson comes the first to mind, That loved his learning better than mankind, Though courteous to the worst much falling he Brooded upon sanctity.
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I think it better that in times like these a poet's mouth be silent, for in truth we have no gift to set a statesman right.
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