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
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
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
When a man grows old his joy Grows more deep day after day, His empty heart is full at length But he… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
In the great cities we see so little of the world, we drift into our minority. In the little towns and villages… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
My curse on plays That have to be set up in fifty ways, On the day's war with every knave and dolt,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Grant me an old man's frenzy, Myself must I remake Till I am Timon and Lear Or that William Blake Who beat… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Man's life is thought, And he, despite his terror, cannot cease Ravening through century after century, Ravening, raging, and uprooting that he… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
No man, even though he be Shakespeare, can write perfectly when his web is woven of threads that have been spun in… — 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
I long for truth, and yet I cannot stay from that My better self disowns, For a man's attention Brings such satisfaction… — 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
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
A statesman is an easy man, he tells his lies by rote. A journalist invents his lies, and rams them down your… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Hope and Memory have one daughter and her name is Art, and she has built her dwelling far from the desperate field… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Surely among a rich man's flowering lawns, Amid the rustle of his planted hills, Life overflows without ambitious pains; And rains down… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Bodies of holy men and women exude Miraculous oil, odour of violet. But under heavy loads of trampled clay Lie bodies of… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
The intellect of man is forced to choose Perfection of the life, or of the work And if it take the second… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Give to these children, new from the world, Rest far from men. Is anything better, anything better? Tell us it then. — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
Because this age and the next age Engender in the ditch, No man can know a happy man From any passing wretch,… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
There is no release In a bodkin or disease, Nor can there be a work so great As that which cleans man's… — William Butler Yeats Copy Share Image
One often hears of a horse that shivers with terror, or of a dog that howls at something a mans eyes cannot… — 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
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
