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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

A Cradle Song
The angels are stooping
Above your bed;
They weary of trooping
With the whimpering dead.
God’s laughing in Heaven
To see you so good;
The Sailing Seven
Are gay with His mood.
I sigh that kiss you,
For I must own
That I shall miss you
When you have grown.

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Long

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He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

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The Fascination of What’s Difficult

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To a Friend Whose Work Has Come to Nothing

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In the Seven Woods

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Lines Written in Dejection

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