Quote

I sat on cushioned otter-skin: My word was law from Ith to Emain, And shook at Invar Amargin The hearts of the world-troubling seamen, And drove tumult and war away.

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
Skins
Otters
Hearts
Seamen
Law
Tumult
Word
Troubling
War
Drove
Away
Shook
Heart
Sat
Cushioned
World
Skin
Otter

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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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O heart the winds have shaken, the unappeasable host Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary's feet.
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What can I but enumerate old themes?
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To be born woman is to know - although they do not speak of it at school - women must labor to be beautiful.
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If what I say resonates with you, it's merely because we're branches of the same tree.
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O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes, The poets labouring all their days To build a perfect beauty in rhyme Are overthrown by a woman's gaze.
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The common breeds the common, A lout begets a lout, So when I take on half a score I knock their heads about.
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I have grown to believe that there is no dangerous idea, which does not become less dangerous when written out in sincere and careful English.
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There is no deformity But saves us from a dream.
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How can they know Truth flourishes where the student's lamp has shone, And there alone, that have no solitude? So the crowd come they care not what may come. They have loud music, hope every day renewed And heartier loves that lamp is from the tomb.
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There is only one romance the Soul's.
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While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.
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What made us dream that he could comb gray hair?
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Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams I have spread my dreams under your feet Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
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In mockery I have set A powerful emblem up, And sing it rhyme upon rhyme In mockery of a time Half dead at the top.
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Turning and turning in the widening gyre The falcon cannot hear the falconer Things fall apart the centre cannot hold Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned The best lack all conviction, while the worst Are full of passionate intensity.
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That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees - Those dying generations-at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect.
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