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O sweet everlasting Voices, be still Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will, Flame under flame, till Time be no more.
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
Sweet
Flame
Voice
Everlasting
Flames
Stills
Voices
Still
Wander
Guards
Time
Heavenly
Fold
Longing
Obeying
Till
Folds
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
All think what other people think All know the man their neighbor knows. Lord, what would they say Did their Catullus walk that way?
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Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate, I find under the boughs of love and hate, In all poor foolish things that live a day, Eternal beauty wandering on her way.
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All the stream that's roaring by Came out of a needle's eye.
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What's memory but the ash That chokes our fires that have begun to sink?
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When I play on my fiddle in Dooney Folk dance like a wave on the sea.
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One should say before sleeping: I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knee and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.
William Butler Yeats
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest.
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The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of leaves Had blotted out man's image and his cry.
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An intellectual hate is the worst.
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Man has created death.
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The chief imagination of Christendom, Dante Alighieri, so utterly found himself That he has made that hollow face of his More plain to the mind's eye than any face But that of Christ.
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And God would bid His warfare cease, Saying all things were well And softly make a rosy peace, A peace of Heaven with Hell.
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And a softness came from the starlight and filled me full to the bone.
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What is literature but the expression of moods by the vehicle of symbol and incident?
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Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill: For there the mystical brotherhood Of sun and moon and hollow and wood And river and stream work out their will.
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I long for truth, and yet I cannot stay from that My better self disowns, For a man's attention Brings such satisfaction To the craving in my bones.
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My soul had found All happiness in its own cause or ground. Godhead on Godhead in sexual spasm begot Godhead. Some shadow fell. My soul forgot Those amorous cries that out of quiet come And must the common round of day resume.
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Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
William Butler Yeats
Death and life were not Till man made up the whole, Made lock, stock and barrel Out of his bitter soul
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Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.
William Butler Yeats
