180 quotes
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
The Rose (1893)
That is no country for old men.
The Tower (1928)
It’s certain that fine women eat
A crazy salad with their meat
Whereby the Horn of plenty is undone.
Michael Robartes and the Dancer (1921)
Players and painted stage took all my love,
And not those things that they were emblems of.
Last Poems (1936)
Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter, seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
Michael Robartes and the Dancer (1921)
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.
The Wild Swans at Coole (1919)
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea.
The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky.
The Wild Swans at Coole (1919)
Somewhere beyond the curtain
Of distorting days
Lives that lonely thing
That shone before these eyes
Targeted, trod like Spring.
The Winding Stair and Other Poems (1933)
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.
In The Seven Woods (1904)
Do what you will. I do not understand stops. I write my work so completely for the ear that I feel helpless when I have to measure pauses by stops & commas.
Englishmen are babes in philosophy and so prefer faction-fighting to the labour of its unfamiliar thought.
I agree about Shaw — he is haunted by the mystery he flouts. He is an atheist who trembles in the haunted corridor.
O when may it suffice?
That is heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name.
Michael Robartes and the Dancer (1921)
Crying amid the glittering sea,
Naming it with the ecstatic breath,
Because it had such dignity,
By the sweet name of Death.
The Green Helmet and Other Poems (1910)
The official designs of the Government, especially its designs in connection with postage stamps and coinage, may be described, I think, as the silent ambassadors of national taste.
I have spread my dreams beneath your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
Much did I rage when young,
Being by the world oppressed,
But now with flattering tongue
It speeds the parting guest.
The Tower (1928)
Come let us mock at the good
That fancied goodness might be gay,
And sick of solitude
Might proclaim a holiday:
Wind shrieked— and where are they?
The Tower (1928)
Come let us mock at the wise;
With all those calendars whereon
They fixed old aching eyes,
They never saw how seasons run,
And now but gape at the sun.
The Tower (1928)