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Eyes spiritualised by death can judge, I cannot, but I am not content.
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
Cannot
Content
Judge
Judging
Eyes
Eye
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
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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The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day For half his flock were in their beds, Or under green sods lay.
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He Who is wrapped in purple robes, With planets in His care, Had pity on the least of things Asleep upon a chair.
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Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart. O when may it suffice?
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No man, even though he be Shakespeare, can write perfectly when his web is woven of threads that have been spun in many lands.
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But O, sick children of the world, Of all the many changing things In dreary dancing past us whirled, To the cracked tune that Chronos sings, Words alone are certain good.
William Butler Yeats
But bear in mind your lover's wage Is what your looking-glass can show, And that he will turn green with rage At all that is not pictured there.
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For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.
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The living can assist the imagination of the dead.
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I wonder anybody does anything at Oxford but dream and remember
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I bear a burden that might well try Men that do all by rule, And what can I That am a wandering-witted fool But pray to God that He ease My great responsibilities?
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It's certain that fine women eat A crazy salad with their meat.
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All through the years of our youth Neither could have known Their own thought from the other's, We were so much at one.
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Those men that in their writings are most wise Own nothing but their blind, stupefied hearts.
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In dreams begins responsibility.
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When you are old and gray and full of sleep, and nodding by the fire, take down this book and slowly read, and dream of the soft look your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep.
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The only enemy of innocence and beauty is time.
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From dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have ranged / In rambling talk with an image of air: / Vague memories, nothing but memories.
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I would that I were an old beggar Rolling a blind pearl eye, For he cannot see my lady Go gallivanting by.
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I pray-for fashion's word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate man.
William Butler Yeats