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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

A Thought From Propertius

SHE might, so noble from head
To great shapely knees
The long flowing line,
Have walked to the altar
Through the holy images
At pallas Athene’s Side,
Or been fit spoil for a centaur
Drunk with the unmixed wine.

#Irish #NobelPrize

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Man and the Echo

Man. In a cleft that’s christened… Under broken stone I halt At the bottom of a pit That broad noon has never lit, And shout a secret to the stone.
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“Put off that mask of burning gold With emerald eyes.” “O no, my dear, you make so bold To find if hearts be wild and wise… And yet not cold.”
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Gratitude to the Unknown Instructors

What they undertook to do They brought to pass; All things hang like a drop of dew Upon a blade of grass.
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The Gift of Harun Al-Rashid

Kusta Ben Luka is my name, I wri… To Abd Al-Rabban; fellow-royster… Now the good Caliph’s learned Tre… And for no ear but his. Carry this letter
The Death of Cuchulain

The harlot sang to the beggar-man. I meet them face to face, Conall, Cuchulain, Usna’s boys, All that most ancient race; Maeve had three in an hour, they s…
Red Hanrahan’s Song About Ireland

THE old brown thorn-trees break i… Under a bitter black wind that blo… Our courage breaks like an old tre… But we have hidden in our hearts t… Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houl…
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A sudden blow: the great wings bea… Above the staggering girl, her thi… By the dark webs, her nape caught… He holds her helpless breast upon… How can those terrified vague fing…
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WHAT if I bade you leave The cavern of the mind? There’s better exercise In the sunlight and wind. I never bade you go
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WHAT sort of man is coming To lie between your feet? What matter, we are but women. Wash; make your body sweet; I have cupboards of dried fragranc…
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Ah, that Time could touch a form That could show what Homer’s age Bred to be a hero’s wage. ‘Were not all her life but storm, Would not painters paint a form
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He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead

Were you but lying cold and dead, And lights were paling out of the… You would come hither, and bend yo… And I would lay my head on your b… And you would murmur tender words,
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‘Those Platonists are a curse,’ h… ‘God’s fire upon the wane, A diagram hung there instead, More women born than men.’
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Out-Worn heart, in a time out-wor… Come clear of the nets of wrong an… Laugh, heart, again in the grey tw… Sigh, heart, again in the dew of t… Your mother Eire is aways young,
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The threefold terror of love; a fa… Through the hollow of an ear; Wings beating about the room; The terror of all terrors that I… The Heavens in my womb.
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I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatch… The sooner love is gone, For love is but a skein unwound



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