William Butler Yeats Quotes

The wind is old and still at play While I must hurry upon my way, For I am running to Paradise; Yet never have I lit on a friend To take my fancy like the wind That nobody can buy or bind....
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Running to Paradise."
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You had to face your ends when young 'Twas wine or women, or some curse But never made a poorer song That you might have a heavier purse, Nor gave loud service to a cause That you might have a troop of friends.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "The Grey Rock."
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He made the world to be a grassy road Before her wandering feet.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet. The Rose of the World (l. 14-15). . . The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. Richard J. Finneran, ed. (1989) Macmillan.
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What if I bade you leave The cavern of the mind? There's better exercise In the sunlight and wind.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Those Images."
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"The work is done," grown old he thought, "According to my boyish plan; Let the fools rage, I swerved in nought, Something to perfection brought;" But louder sang that ghost "What then?"
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "What Then?"
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While on that old grey stone I sat Under the old wind-broken tree, I knew that One is animate, Mankind inanimate phantasy.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "A Meditation in Time of War."
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I had wild Jack for a lover; Though like a road That men pass over My body makes no moan But sings on: All things remain in God.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet. Crazy Jane on God (l. 19-24). . . The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. Richard J. Finneran, ed. (1989) Macmillan.
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And more I may not write of, for they that cleave The waters of sleep can make a chattering tongue Heavy like stone, their wisdom being half silence. How shall I name you, immortal, mild, proud shadows? I only know that all we know comes from you, And that you come from Eden on flying feet.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Introductory Lines."
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Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unaging intellect.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet. Sailing to Byzantium (l. 5-8). . . The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. Richard J. Finneran, ed. (1989) Macmillan.
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Things thought too long can be no longer thought For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth, And ancient lineaments are blotted out.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "The Gyres."
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