Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's… — 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
Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not… — 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
While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say? — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
The Mask "Put off that mask of burning gold With emerald eyes." "O no, my dear, you make so bold To find… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
But Love has pitched his mansion in the place of excrement. For nothing can be sole or whole that has not been… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Why should I seek for love or study it? It is of God and passes human wit; I study hatred with great… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Sweetheart, do not love too long: I loved long and long, And grew to be out of fashion Like an old song. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
“Ah, faerics, dancing under the moon, A Druid land, a Druid tune! While still I may, I write for you The love… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea! We tire of the flame of the… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
They set up a noise like crickets, A chattering wise and sweet, And her hair was a folded flower And the quiet… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Although our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Great Powers of falling wave and wind and windy fire, With your harmonious choir Encircle her I love and sing her into… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
My chair was nearest to the fire In every company That talked of love or politics, Ere Time transfigured me. — 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
