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I had this thought a while ago, My darling cannot understand What I have done, or what would do In this blind bitter land. And I grew weary of the sun
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
Land
Understand
Misunderstanding
Cannot
Darling
Thought
Weary
Done
Bitter
Would
Blind
Sun
Grew
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There is another world, but it is in this one.
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Him who trembles before the flame and the flood, And the winds that blow through the starry ways, Let the starry winds and the flame and the flood Cover over and hide, for he has no part With the lonely, majestical multitude.
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What shall I do for pretty girls Now my old bawd is dead?
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When two close kindred meet What better than call a dance?.
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Only the dead can be forgiven But when I think of that my tongue's a stone.
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In luck or out the toil has left its mark: That old perplexity an empty purse, Or the day's vanity, the night's remorse.
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In dreams begin responsibilitiy.
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Give to these children, new from the world, Rest far from men. Is anything better, anything better? Tell us it then.
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Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
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Once more the storm is howling, and half hid Under this cradle-hood and coverlid My child sleeps on.
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There are no strangers here Only friends you haven't yet met.
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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 is one of the great troubles of life that we cannot have any unmixed emotions. There is always something in our enemy that we like, and something in our sweetheart that we dislike.
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Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day.
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A passion-driven exultant man sings out Sentences that he has never thought.
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It is love that I am seeking for, But of a beautiful, unheard-of kind That is not in the world.
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The women that I picked spoke sweet and low And yet gave tongue. Hound voices were they all.
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What if I bade you leave The cavern of the mind? There's better exercise In the sunlight and wind.
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Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.
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Man can embody truth but he cannot know it.
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