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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.

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
State
Sour
Church
Thick
Running
Bread
Ends
Wine
States
Door
Government
Taste
Doors
Howls
Shall
Howl

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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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Cast your mind on other days that we in coming days may be still the indomitable Irishry.
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The visible world is no longer a reality and the unseen world no longer a dream.
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A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
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All that could run or leap or swim Whether in wood, water or cloud, Acclaiming, proclaiming, declaiming Him.
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God spreads the heavens above us like great wings, And gives a little round of deeds and days.
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Even when the poet seems most himself . . . he is never the bundle of accident and incoherence that sits down to breakfast he has been reborn as an idea, something intended, complete.
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Tis the eternal law, That first in beauty should be first in might.
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I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs, For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed 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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Neither Christ nor Buddha nor Socrates wrote a book, for to do so is to exchange life for a logical process.
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