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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

To Be Carved on a Stone at Thoor Ballylee

I, THE poet William Yeats,
With old mill boards and sea-green slates,
And smithy work from the Gort forge,
Restored this tower for my wife George;
And may these characters remain
When all is ruin once again.

#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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Sang old Tom the lunatic That sleeps under the canopy: ‘What change has put my thoughts a… And eyes that had so keen a sight? What has turned to smoking wick
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We that have done and thought, That have thought and done, Must ramble, and thin out Like milk spilt on a stone.
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BECAUSE we love bare hills and… And were the last to choose the se… Its boredom of the desk or of the… So many years companioned by a hou… Our voices carry; and though slumb…
A Cradle Song

The angels are stooping Above your bed; They weary of trooping With the whimpering dead. God’s laughing in Heaven
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The Fish

Although you hide in the ebb and f… Of the pale tide when the moon has… The people of coming days will kno… About the casting out of my net, And how you have leaped times out…
The Host of the Air

O’Driscoll drove with a song The wild duck and the drake From the tall and the tufted reeds Of the drear Hart Lake. And he saw how the reeds grew dark
The Second Coming

Turning and turning in the widenin… The falcon cannot hear the falcone… Things fall apart; the centre cann… Mere anarchy is loosed upon the wo… The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, a…
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A Lover’s Quarrel Among the Fairies

A moonlight moor. Fairies lead… Male Fairies: Do not fear us, ear… We will lead you hand in hand By the willows in the glade, By the gorse on the high land,
A First Confession

I admit the briar Entangled in my hair Did not injure me; My blenching and trembling, Nothing but dissembling,
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I went out to the hazel wood, Because a fire was in my head, And cut and peeled a hazel wand, And hooked a berry to a thread; And when white moths were on the w…
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ON the grey rock of Cashel the mi… Has called up the cold spirits tha… When the old moon is vanished from… And the new still hides her horn. Under blank eyes and fingers never…
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I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams, White woman that passion has worn As the tide wears the dove-grey sa… And with heart more old than the h…
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