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somewhere in sands of the desert A shape with lion body and the head of a man, A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun, Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it Reel shadows of the indignant desert birds.
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
Body
Shape
Lion
Men
Somewhere
Lions
Shapes
Shadows
Pitiless
Bird
Blank
Reel
Shadow
Birds
Indignant
Sun
Sand
Sands
Head
Desert
Thighs
Moving
Slow
Gaze
More quotes by William Butler Yeats
The mystical life is at the centre of all that I do and all that I think and all that I write.
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While Michael Angelo's Sistine roof, His Morning and his Night disclose How sinew that has been pulled tight, Or it may be loosened in repose, Can rule by supernatural right Yet be but sinew.
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I carry from my mother's womb a fanatic's heart.
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All think what other people think All know the man their neighbor knows. Lord, what would they say Did their Catullus walk that way?
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Everything we look upon is blest.
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Great Powers of falling wave and wind and windy fire, With your harmonious choir Encircle her I love and sing her into peace, That my old care may cease.
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Tread softly, for you tread on my dreams
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Farewell - farewell, For I am weary of the weight of time.
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Ah, let us kiss each other's eyes,/And laugh our love away.
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Whence had they come The hand and lash that beat down frigid Rome? What sacred drama through her body heaved When world-transforming Charlemagne was conceived?
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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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May we two stand, When we are dead, beyond the setting suns, A little from other shades apart, With mingling hair, and play upon one lute.
William Butler Yeats
Poet and sculptor, do the work, / Nor let the modish painter shirk
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Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
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Designs in connection with postage stamps and coinage may be described, I think, as the silent ambassadors on national taste.
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I can exchange opinion with any neighbouring mind, I have as healthy flesh and blood as any rhymer's had, But O! my Heart could bear no more when the upland caught the wind I ran, I ran, from my love's side because my Heart went mad.
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For such, Being made beautiful overmuch, Consider beauty a sufficient end, Lose natural kindness and maybe The heart-revealing intimacy That chooses right, and never find a friend.
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I have no question: It is enough, I know what fixed the station Of star and cloud. And knowing all, I cry. . . .
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Evil comes to us men of imagination wearing as its mask all the virtues.
William Butler Yeats
How could passion run so deep Had I never thought That the crime of being born Blackens all our lot?
William Butler Yeats
