William Butler Yeats Quotes

twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet. The Second Coming (l. 19-22). . . The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. Richard J. Finneran, ed. (1989) Macmillan.
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The common breeds the common, A lout begets a lout, So when I take on half a score I knock their heads about.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Three Songs to the One Burden."
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Miracle had its playtime where In damask clothed and on a seat Chryselephantine, cedar-boarded, His majestic Mother sat Stitching at a purple hoarded That He might be nobly breeched....
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Wisdom."
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My temptation is quiet. Here at life's end Neither loose imagination, Nor the mill of the mind Consuming its rag and bone, Can make the truth known.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "An Acre of Grass."
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MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse Now and in time to be, Wherever green is worn, Are changed, changed utterly: A terrible beauty is born.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet. Easter 1916 (l. 75-80). . . The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. Richard J. Finneran, ed. (1989) Macmillan.
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I have old women's secrets now That had those of the young; Madge tells me what I dared not think When my blood was strong....
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "IX. The Secrets of the Old."
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Nor bird nor beast Could make me wish for anything this day, Being old, but that the old alone might die, And that would be against God's Providence.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Shepherd and Goatherd."
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O hiding hair and dewy eyes, I am no more with life and death, My heart upon his warm heart lies, My breath is mixed into his breath.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "The Heart of the Woman."
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Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "The Second Coming."
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And no one knows what's yet to come. For Patrick Pearse had said That in every generation Must Ireland's blood be shed. From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Three Songs to the One Burden."
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