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A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon I hail the superhuman I call it death-in-life and life-in-death.

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
Death
Hail
May
Humankind
Life
Breath
Breaths
Mouth
Moisture
Mouths
Summon
Greatness
Breathless
Call
Superhuman

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I hear it in the deep heart's core.
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O heart, we are old The living beauty is for younger men: We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.
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I have found nothing half so good / As my long-planned half solitude, / Where I can sit up half the night / With some friend that has the wit.
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The blessed spirits must be sought within the self which is common to all
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Man's life is thought, And he, despite his terror, cannot cease Ravening through century after century, Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he may come Into the desolation of reality.
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I knew that I had seen, had seen at last That girl my unremembering nights hold fast Or else my dreams that fly If I should rub an eye, And yet in flying fling into my meat A crazy juice that makes the pulses beat.
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A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
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And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?
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Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon, The golden apples of the sun.
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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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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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I thought of rhyme alone, For rhyme can beat a measure out of trouble And make the daylight sweet once more.
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Joy is of the will which labours, which overcomes obstacles, which knows triumph.
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Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
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Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all.
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Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when the abounding hedges ring Declare that winter's best of all: And after that there's nothing good Because the spring time has not come- Not know that what disturbs our blood Is but its longing for the tomb.
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only an aching heart Conceives a changeless work of art.
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If soul my look and body touch, Which is the more blest?
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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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Where there is nothing, there is God.
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