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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

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,
Winding-sheet and swaddling - clothes.

#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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Other works by W. B. Yeats...
Parnell’s Funeral

Under the Great Comedian’s tomb t… A bundle of tempestuous cloud is b… About the sky; where that is clear… Brightness remains; a brighter sta… What shudders run through all that…
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‘TIME to put off the world and g… And find my health again in the se… Beggar to beggar cried, being fren… ‘And make my soul before my pate i… ’And get a comfortable wife and ho…
Slim Adolescence That a Nymph Has Stripped

III Slim adolescence that a nymph has… Peleus on Thetis stares. Her limbs are delicate as an eyeli… Love has blinded him with tears;
Crazy Jane on the Day of Judgment

'Love is all Unsatisfied That cannot take the whole Body and soul’; And that is what Jane said.
Men Improve With the Years

I AM worn out with dreams; A weather-worn, marble triton Among the streams; And all day long I look Upon this lady’s beauty
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Three Things

‘O cruel Death, give three things… Sang a bone upon the shore; ‘A child found all a child can lac… Whether of pleasure or of rest, Upon the abundance of my breast’:
The Stolen Child

Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats;
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Three Songs to the Same Tune

GRANDFATHER sang it under the… ‘ Hear, gentlemen, ladies, and all… Money is good and a girl might be… But good strong blows are delights… There, standing on the catt,
Blood and the Moon

Blessed be this place, More blessed still this tower; A bloody, arrogant power Rose out of the race Uttering, mastering it,
The Sad Shepherd

There was a man whom Sorrow named… And he, of his high comrade Sorro… Went walking with slow steps along… And humming Sands, where windy su… And he called loudly to the stars…
Running to Paradise

As I came over Windy Gap They threw a halfpenny into my cap… For I am running to paradise; And all that I need do is to wish And somebody puts his hand in the…
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My Parents, by David Hockney
A Song

I THOUGHT no more was needed Youth to prolong Than dumb-bell and foil To keep the body young. Oh, who could have foretold
Before the World Was Made

If I make the lashes dark And the eyes more bright And the lips more scarlet, Or ask if all be right From mirror after mirror,
The Wild Old Wicked Man

BECAUSE I am mad about women I am mad about the hills,’ Said that wild old wicked man Who travels where God wills. ‘Not to die on the straw at home.
Youth and Age

Much did I rage when young, Being by the world oppressed, But now with flattering tongue It speeds the parting guest.



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