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Goethe in the Roman Campagna, by Johann Heinrich Wilhelm Tischbein
W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

The Wheel

Through winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter’s best of all;
And after that there’s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come—
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.

#1928 #IrishWriters #TheTower

Altre opere di W. B. Yeats...
The Ballad of Father Gilligan

The old priest Peter Gilligan Was weary night and day For half his flock were in their b… Or under green sods lay. Once, while he nodded in a chair
September

WHAT need you, being come to sen… But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, un… You have dried the marrow from the…
The Wanderings of Oisin: Book II

Now, man of croziers, shadows call… And then away, away, like whirling… And now fled by, mist-covered, wit… The youth and lady and the deer an… ‘Gaze no more on the phantoms,’ N…
 1
The Dancer at Cruachan and Cro-Patrick

I, proclaiming that there is Among birds or beasts or men One that is perfect or at peace. Danced on Cruachan’s windy plain, Upon Cro-patrick sang aloud;
The Dedication to a Book of Stories Selected From the Irish Novelists

There was a green branch hung with… When her own people ruled this tra… And from its murmuring greenness,… A Druid kindness, on all hearers… It charmed away the merchant from…
Consolation

O but there is wisdom In what the sages said; But stretch that body for a while And lay down that head Till I have told the sages
The Curse of Cromwell

YOU ask what—I have found, and f… Nothing but Cromwell’s house and… The lovers and the dancers are bea… And the tall men and the swordsmen… And there is an old beggar wanderi…
Wisdom

The true faith discovered was When painted panel, statuary. Glass-mosaic, window-glass, Amended what was told awry By some peasant gospeller;
The Lady’s Second Song

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…
Those Dancing Days Are Gone

Come, let me sing into your ear; Those dancing days are gone, All that silk and satin gear; Crouch upon a stone, Wrapping that foul body up
 1
To a Child Dancing in the Wind

DANCE there upon the shore; What need have you to care For wind or water’s roar? And tumble out your hair That the salt drops have wet;
 1
The White Birds

I WOULD that we were, my belove… We tire of the flame of the meteor… And the flame of the blue star of… Has awakened in our hearts, my bel… A weariness comes from those dream…
 1
The Wanderings of Oisin: Book I

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and… With a heavy heart and a wandering… Have known three centuries, poets… Of dalliance with a demon thing. Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with…
A Man Young and Old: I. First Love

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

Old fathers, great-grandfathers, Rise as kindred should. If ever lover’s loneliness Came where you stood, Pray that Heaven protect us
 1



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