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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

He Reproves the Curlew

O curlew, cry no more in the air,
Or only to the water in the West;
Because your crying brings to my mind
passion-dimmed eyes and long heavy hair
That was shaken out over my breast:
There is enough evil in the crying of wind.

#IrishWriters #NobelPrize #1899 #TheWindAmongTheReeds

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WE have cried in our despair That men desert, For some trivial affair Or noisy, insolent sport, Beauty that we have won
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I saw a staring virgin stand Where holy Dionysus died, And tear the heart out of his side… And lay the heart upon her hand And bear that beating heart away;
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A Man Young and Old: VI. His Memories

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Bring me to the blasted oak That I, midnight upon the stroke, (All find safety in the tomb.) May call down curses on his head Because of my dear Jack that’s de…
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