Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of. — 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
It seems to me that love, if fine, is essentially a discipline. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
And learn that the best thing is To change my loves while dancing And pay but a kiss for a kiss. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
It is love that I am seeking for, But of a beautiful, unheard-of kind That is not in the world. — 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
I have nothing more to give you than my heart. Spanish saying Hearts are not to be had as a gift hearts… — 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
even The bed of love, that in the imagination Had seemed to be the giver of all peace, Is no more than… — 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
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
And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Things thought too long can be no longer thought, For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth, And ancient lineaments are blotted… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Those that I fight I do not hate, those that I guard I do not love. — 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
While man can still his body keep Wine or love drug him to sleep, Waking he thanks the Lord that he Has… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
How can I, that girl standing there, My attention fix On Roman or on Russian Or on Spanish politics? — 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
I--love's skein upon the ground, My body in the tomb-- Shall leap into the light lost In my mother's womb. — 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
I, too, await The hour of thy great wind of love and hate. When shall the stars be blown about the sky,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
“Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate, I find under the boughs of love and hate, In all poor foolish… — 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
Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we… — 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… — 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
Being young you have not known The fool's triumph, nor yet Love lost as soon as won, Nor the best labourer dead… — 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
Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day. Love's pleasure drives his love away, The painter's brush consumes his dreams. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
“How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true; But one man loved the… — 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
