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Now must we sing and sing the best we can, But first you must be told your character: Convicted cowards all, by kindred slain.
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
Sing
Told
Character
Slain
Best
Convicted
Firsts
Kindred
First
Cowards
Must
Cowardice
Coward
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Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
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Imagining in excited reverie That the future years had come, Dancing to a frenzied drum, Out of the murderous innocence of the sea.
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Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth, We are happy when we are growing.
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Cats are oppressed, dogs terrify them, landladies starve them, boys stone them, everybody speaks of them with contempt. If they were human beings we could talk of their oppressors with a studied violence, add our strength to theirs, even organize the oppressed and like good politicians sell our charity for power.
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I spit into the face of time that has transfigured me
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I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping...I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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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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I say that Roger Casement Did what he had to do, He died upon the gallows But that is nothing new.
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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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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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Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
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The Land of Faery, Where nobody gets old and godly and grave, Where nobody gets old and crafty and wise, Where nobody gets old and bitter of tongue.
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My temptation is quiet. Here at life's end Neither loose imagination Nor the mill of the mind Consuming its rag and bone, Can make the truth known.
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For how can you compete Being honour bred, with one Who, were it proved he lies, Were neither shamed in his own Nor in his neighbour's eyes?
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I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatched The sooner love is gone.
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I went out to the hazelwood because a fire was in my head.
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How but in custom and in ceremony are innocence and beauty born?
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Only that which does not teach, which does not cry out, which does not condescend, which does not explain, is irresistible.
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Let us go forth, the tellers of tales, and seize whatever prey the heart long for, and have no fear. Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is only a little dust under our feet.
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Where there is nothing, there is God.
William Butler Yeats