I would have touched it like a child But knew my finger could but have touched Cold stone and water. I grew… — 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
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
I bring you with reverent hands The books of my numberless dreams. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Shakespearean fish swam the sea, far away from land; Romantic fish swam in nets coming to the hand. — 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
This great purple butterfly, In the prison of my hands, Has a learning in his eye Not a poor fool understands. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Poetry and music I have banished, But the stupidity Of root, shoot, blossom or clay Makes no demand. I bend my body… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
The Danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold, And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes, For they will… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand; Whether we have chosen chisel, pen… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
On the grey rock of Cashel I suddenly saw A Sphinx with woman breast and lion paw, A Buddha, hand at rest,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Whence had they come The hand and lash that beat down frigid Rome? What sacred drama through her body heaved When world-transforming… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
All things can tempt me from this craft of verse: One time it was a woman's face, or worse-- The seeming needs… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Test every work of intellect or faith and everything that your own hands have wrought. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Test every work of intellect or faith, And everything that your own hands have wrought And call those works extravagance of breath… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
An aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Pale brows, still hands and dim hair, I had a beautiful friend And dreamed that the old despair Would end in love… — 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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
I see a schoolboy when I think of him, With face and nose pressed to a sweet-shop window. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
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 Image
