How can the arts overcome the slow dying of men's hearts that we call progress ? — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
For Death who takes what man would keep, Leaves what man would lose. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Eyes spiritualised by death can judge, I cannot, but I am not content. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Nor dread nor hope attend a dying animal; a man awaits his end dreading and hoping all. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
. . . you may think I waste my breath Pretending that there can be passion That has more life in it than death — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
We poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
The true poet is all the time a visionary and whether with friends or not, as much alone as a man on… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
I balanced all, brought all to mind, the years to come seemed waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
I pray-for fashion's word is out And prayer comes round again- That I may seem, though I die old, A foolish, passionate… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Consume my heart away, sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is, and gather me… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Endure what life God gives and ask no longer span; Cease to remember the delights of youth, travel-wearied aged man; Delight becomes… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
A mouth that has no moisture and no breath Breathless mouths may summon; I hail the superhuman; I call it death-in-life and… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
That is no country for old men. The young In one another's arms, birds in the trees - Those dying generations-at their… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
And that enquiring man John Synge comes next, That dying chose the living world for text And never could have rested in… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Through winter-time we call on spring, And through the spring on summer call, And when the abounding hedges ring Declare that winter's… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay; Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way Crowded with bitter faces,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
An Irish Airman foresees his Death I Know that I shall meet my fate Somewhere among the clouds above; Those that I… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
His element is so fine Being sharpened by his death, To drink from the wine-breath While our gross palates drink from the… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Death and life were not Till man made up the whole, Made lock, stock and barrel Out of his bitter soul — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
On limestone quarried near the spot By his command these words are cut: Cast a cold eye On life, on death. Horseman,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
I would have touched it like a child But knew my finger could but have touched Cold stone and water. I grew wild, Even… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
You know what the Englishman's idea of compromise is? He says, Some people say there is a God. Some people say there is no… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's lonely hour… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
That toil of growing up; The ignominy of boyhood; the distress Of boyhood changing into man; The unfinished man and his pain. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
I see a schoolboy when I think of him, With face and nose pressed to a sweet-shop window. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
I know that I shall meet my fate somewhere among the clouds above; those that I fight I do not hate, those that I… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
Great literature has always been written in a like spirit, and is, indeed, the Forgiveness of Sin, and when we find it becoming the… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
His element is so fine Being sharpened by his death, To drink from the wine-breath While our gross palates drink from the whole wine. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
We poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk about women… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream? For these red lips, with all their mournful pride, Mournful that no new wonder may betide,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share
