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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.

#IrishWriters #NobelPrize

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Other works by W. B. Yeats...
To a Squirrel at Kyle-na-gno

COME play with me; Why should you run Through the shaking tree As though I’d a gun To strike you dead?
The Happy Townland

THERE’S many a strong farmer Whose heart would break in two, If he could see the townland That we are riding to; Boughs have their fruit and blosso…
The Mountain Tomb

POUR wine and dance if manhood s… Bring roses if the rose be yet in… The cataract smokes upon the mount… Our Father Rosicross is in his to… Pull down the blinds, bring fiddle…
Form the Green Helmet and Other Poems

HIS DREAM I SWAYED upon the gaudy stem The butt-end of a steering-oar, And saw wherever I could turn A crowd upon a shore.
Old Tom Again

Things out of perfection sail, And all their swelling canvas wear… Nor shall the self-begotten fail Though fantastic men suppose Building-yard and stormy shore,
Girl’s Song

I went out alone To sing a song or two, My fancy on a man, And you know who. Another came in sight
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The Hero, The Girl, and The Fool

I rage at my own image in the glas… That’s so unlike myself that when… It is as though you praised anothe… Mocked me with praise of my mere o… And when I wake towards morn I dr…
The Seven Sages

The First. My great-grandfather s… In Grattan’s house. The Second. My great-grandfather… A pot-house bench with Oliver Gol… The Third. My great-grandfather’s…
The Double Vision of Michael Robartes

ON the grey rock of Cashel the mi… Has called up the cold spirits tha… When the old moon is vanished from… And the new still hides her horn. Under blank eyes and fingers never…
A Man Young and Old: II. Human Dignity

Like the moon her kindness is, If kindness I may call What has no comprehension in’t, But is the same for all As though my sorrow were a scene
 1
Death of Caesar, by Vincenzo Camuccini
Come let us mock at the great

Come let us mock at the great That had such burdens on the mind And toiled so hard and late To leave some monument behind, Nor thought of the levelling wind.
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Tom O’Roughley

‘THOUGH logic choppers rule the… And every man and maid and boy Has marked a distant object down, An aimless joy is a pure joy,’ Or so did Tom O’Roughley say
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The Circus Animals’ Desertion

I sought a theme and sought for it… I sought it daily for six weeks or… Maybe at last, being but a broken… I must be satisfied with my heart,… Winter and summer till old age beg…
The Rose Tree

‘O WORDS are lightly spoken,’ Said Pearse to Connolly, ‘Maybe a breath of politic words Has withered our Rose Tree; Or maybe but a wind that blows
 1
The Attack on “The Playboy of the Western World”, 1907

Once, when midnight smote the air, Eunuchs ran through Hell and met From thoroughfare to thoroughfare, While that great Juan galloped by… And like these to rail and sweat



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