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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

The Balloon of the Mind

HANDS, do what you’re bid;    
Bring the balloon of the mind    
That bellies and drags in the wind    
Into its narrow shed.

The Wild Swans at Coole. 1919.

#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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Other works by W. B. Yeats...
Broken Dreams

THERE is grey in your hair. Young men no longer suddenly catch their… When you are passing; But maybe some old gaffer mutters a bles… Because it was your prayer

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A Meditation in Time of War

FOR one throb of the artery, While on that old grey stone I Sat Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate fantasy’.

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The Curse of Cromwell

YOU ask what—I have found, and far and… Nothing but Cromwell’s house and Cromwe… The lovers and the dancers are beaten in… And the tall men and the swordsmen and t… And there is an old beggar wandering in…

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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Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen

Many ingenious lovely things are gone That seemed sheer miracle to the multitu… protected from the circle of the moon That pitches common things about. Ther… Amid the ornamental bronze and stone

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The Fisherman

Although I can see him still, The freckled man who goes To a grey place on a hill In grey Connemara clothes At dawn to cast his flies,

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A Man Young and Old: I. First Love

Though nurtured like the sailing moon In beauty’s murderous brood, She walked awhile and blushed awhile And on my pathway stood Until I thought her body bore

#1928 #TheTower

These Are the Clouds

These are the clouds about the fallen su… The majesty that shuts his burning eye: The weak lay hand on what the strong has… Till that be tumbled that was lifted hig… And discord follow upon unison,

#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems

The Dolls

A DOLL in the doll-maker’s house Looks at the cradle and bawls: ‘That is an insult to us.’ But the oldest of all the dolls, Who had seen, being kept for show,

A Prayer for my Son

Bid a strong ghost stand at the head That my Michael may sleep sound, Nor cry, nor turn in the bed Till his morning meal come round; And may departing twilight keep

#1928 #TheTower

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A Stick of Incense

Whence did all that fury come? From empty tomb or Virgin womb? Saint Joseph thought the world would me… But liked the way his finger smelt.

The Man and the Echo

Man IN a cleft that’s christened Alt Under broken stone I halt At the bottom of a pit That broad noon has never lit,

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In Memory of Major Robert Gregory

NOW that we’re almost settled in our ho… I’ll name the friends that cannot sup wi… Beside a fire of turf in the ancient tow… And having talked to some late hour Climb up the narrow winding stair to bed…

Jeremiah Lamenting the Destruction of Jerusalem, by Rembrandt
The Coming of Wisdom With Time

Though leaves are many, the root is one; Through all the lying days of my youth I swayed my leaves and flowers in the su… Now I may wither into the truth.

#1910 #TheGreenHelmetAndOtherPoems

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The Sad Shepherd

There was a man whom Sorrow named his F… And he, of his high comrade Sorrow drea… Went walking with slow steps along the g… And humming Sands, where windy surges w… And he called loudly to the stars to ben…

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