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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

What Was Lost

I sing what was lost and dread what was won,
I walk in a battle fought over again,
My king a lost king, and lost soldiers my men;
Feet to the Rising and Setting may run,
They always beat on the same small stone.

#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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Otras obras de W. B. Yeats...
The Dedication to a Book of Stories

SELECTED FROM THE IR… THERE was a green branch hung wi… When her own people ruled this tra… And from its murmuring greenness,… A Druid kindness, on all hearers…
The Arrow

I THOUGHT of your beauty, and… Made out of a wild thought, is in… There’s no man may look upon her,… As when newly grown to be a woman, Tall and noble but with face and b…
John Kinsella’s Lament for Mr. Mary Moore

A BLOODY and a sudden end, Gunshot or a noose, For Death who takes what man woul… Leaves what man would lose. He might have had my sister,
The Rose in the Deeps of His Heart

All things uncomely and broken, All things worn-out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, The creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman,
The Fiddler of Dooney

When I play on my fiddle in Doone… Folk dance like a wave of the sea; My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet, My brother in Mocharabuiee. I passed my brother and cousin:
 1
Politics

How can I, that girl standing the… My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? Yet here’s a travelled man that kn…
 1
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…
Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cl… Enwrought with golden and silver l… The blue and the dim and the dark… Of night and light and the half-li… I would spread the cloths under yo…
Coole Park and Ballylee, 1931

Under my window-ledge the waters r… Otters below and moor-hens on the… Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven… Then darkening through 'dark’ Raf… Run underground, rise in a rocky p…
 1
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
The Lamentation of the Old Pensioner

ALTHOUGH I shelter from the ra… Under a broken tree My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics,
 2
A Faery Song

We who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of y… If all were told: Give to these children, new from t…
A Man Young and Old: IV. the Death of the Hare

I have pointed out the yelling pac… The hare leap to the wood, And when I pass a compliment Rejoice as lover should At the drooping of an eye,
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 Three Bushes

SAID lady once to lover, ‘None can rely upon A love that lacks its proper food; And if your love were gone How could you sing those songs of…
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