Laughter not time destroyed my voice And put that crack in it, And when the moon's pot-bellied I get a laughing fit. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
And pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
“When one gets quiet, then something wakes up inside one, something happy and quiet like the stars.” — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Because the priest must have like every dog his day Or keep us all awake with baying at the moon, We and… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Oh, Love is the crooked thing, there is nobody wise enough to find out all that is in it, for he will… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Because of something told under the famished horn Of the hunter's moon, that hung between the night and the day, To dream… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
on the instant clamorous eaves, A climbing moon upon an empty sky, And all that lamentation of the leaves, Could but compose… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
I have nothing but the embittered sun; Banished heroic mother moon and vanished, And now that I have come to fifty years… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill: For there the mystical brotherhood Of sun and moon and hollow and wood And… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Though I am old with wandering Through hollow lands and hilly lands, I will find out where she has gone, And kiss… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
For wisdom is the property of the dead, A something incompatible with life; and power, Like everything that has the stain of… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim gray sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
I WHISPERED, 'I am too young,' And then, 'I am old enough'; Wherefore I threw a penny To find out if I… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
“The Cat and the Moon The cat went here and there And the moon spun round like a top, And the nearest… — 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
