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Yeats, William Butler

· William Butler Yeats: He tells of the Perfect Beauty · William Butler Yeats: A Coat · William Butler Yeats: Maid Quiet · WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS: HE WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN · WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS: THE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED · William Butler Yeats: A Coat · William Butler Yeats: The Heart of the Woman · William Butler Yeats: Two Songs Rewritten For The Tune’s Sake · William Butler Yeats poetry: Presences · William Butler Yeats: Why Should Not Old Men Be Mad? · William Butler Yeats: The Heart of the Woman · William Butler Yeats: He Mourns For The Change That Has Come Upon Him And His Beloved, And Longs For The End Of The World

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William Butler Yeats: He tells of the Perfect Beauty

 

He tells of the Perfect Beauty

O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.

William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)
He tells of the Perfect Beauty

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

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William Butler Yeats: A Coat

 

A Coat

I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world’s eyes
As though they’d wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there’s more enterprise
In walking naked.

William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)
A Coat

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive Y-Z, Archive Y-Z, Yeats, William Butler


William Butler Yeats: Maid Quiet

 

Maid Quiet

Where has Maid Quiet gone to,
Nodding her russet hood?
The winds that awakened the stars
Are blowing through my blood.
O how could I be so calm
When she rose up to depart?
Now words that called up the lightning
Are hurtling through my heart.

William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)
Maid Quiet

• fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive Y-Z, Archive Y-Z, Yeats, William Butler


WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS: HE WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN

Yeats1903Boughton

William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)

He Wishes For The Cloths Of Heaven

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

William Butler Yeats poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine

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WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS: THE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED

Yeats1903Boughton

William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)

The Folly Of Being Comforted

One that is ever kind said yesterday
‘Your well-beloved’s hair has threads of grey,
And little shadows come about her eyes;
Time can but make it easier to be wise
Though now it seems impossible, and so
Patience is all that you have need of.’ No,
I have not a crumb of comfort, not a grain;
Time can but make her beauty over again;
Because of that great nobleness of hers
The fire that stirs about her, when she stirs
Burns but more clearly. O she had not these ways,
When all the wild summer was in her gaze.
O heart! O heart! if she’d but turn her head,
You’d know the folly of being comforted.

William Butler Yeats poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine

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William Butler Yeats: A Coat

poetry400

William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)

 

A Coat

I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But he fools caught it,
Wore it in the world’s eyes
As though they’d wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there’s more enterprise
In walking naked.
Who comes at need, although not now as once
A clear articulation in the air,
But inwardly, surmise companions
Beyond the fling of the dull ass’s hoof
— Ben Jonson’s phrase — and find when June is come
At Kyle-na-no under that ancient roof
A sterner conscience and a friendlier home,
I can forgive even that wrong of wrongs,
Those undreamt accidents that have made me
— Seeing that Fame has perished this long while.
Being but a part of ancient ceremony —
Notorious, till all my priceless things
Are but a post the passing dogs defile.

 

William Butler Yeats poetry
fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive Y-Z, Yeats, William Butler


William Butler Yeats: The Heart of the Woman

fleursdumal 111a

 

William Butler Yeats

(1865 – 1939)

 

The Heart of the Woman

 

O what to me the little room

That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;

He bade me out into the gloom,

And my breast lies upon his breast.

 

O what to me my mother’s care,

The house where I was safe and warm;

The shadowy blossom of my hair

Will hide us from the bitter storm.

 

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 poetry

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive Y-Z, Yeats, William Butler


William Butler Yeats: Two Songs Rewritten For The Tune’s Sake

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William Butler Yeats

(1865-1939)

 

Two Songs Rewritten For The Tune’s Sake

I
My Paistin Finn is my sole desire,
And I am shrunken to skin and bone,
For all my heart has had for its hire
Is what I can whistle alone and alone.
Oro, oro.!
Tomorrow night I will break down the door.
What is the good of a man and he
Alone and alone, with a speckled shin?
I would that I drank with my love on my knee
Between two barrels at the inn.
Oro, oro.!

To-morrow night I will break down the door.
Alone and alone nine nights I lay
Between two bushes under the rain;
I thought to have whistled her down that
I whistled and whistled and whistled in vain.
Oro, oro!
To-morrow night I will break down the door.

II
I would that I were an old beggar
Rolling a blind pearl eye,
For he cannot see my lady
Go gallivanting by;
A dreary, dreepy beggar
Without a friend on the earth
But a thieving rascally cur —
O a beggar blind from his birth;
Or anything else but a rhymer
Without a thing in his head
But rhymes for a beautiful lady,
He rhyming alone in his bed.

William Butler Yeats poetry

fleursdumal.nl magazine

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William Butler Yeats poetry: Presences

William Butler Yeats
(1865-1939)


PRESENCES

This night has been so strange that it seemed
As if the hair stood up on my head.
From going-down of the sun I have dreamed
That women laughing, or timid or wild,
In rustle of lace or silken stuff,
Climbed up my creaking stair. They had read
All I had rhymed of that monstrous thing
Returned and yet unrequited love.
They stood in the door and stood between
My great wood lectern and the fire
Till I could hear their hearts beating:
One is a harlot, and one a child
That never looked upon man with desire.
And one, it may be, a queen.

 

William Butler Yeats poetry

fleursdumal.nl magazine

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William Butler Yeats: Why Should Not Old Men Be Mad?

William Butler Yeats

(1865-1939)

Why Should Not Old Men Be Mad?

Why should not old men be mad?
Some have known a likely lad
That had a sound fly-fisher’s wrist
Turn to a drunken journalist;
A girl that knew all Dante once
Live to bear children to a dunce;
A Helen of social welfare dream,
Climb on a wagonette to scream.
Some think it a matter of course that chance
Should starve good men and bad advance,
That if their neighbours figured plain,
As though upon a lighted screen,
No single story would they find
Of an unbroken happy mind,
A finish worthy of the start.
Young men know nothing of this sort,
Observant old men know it well;
And when they know what old books tell
And that no better can be had,
Know why an old man should be mad.


W.B. Yeats poetry

fleursdumal.nl magazine

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William Butler Yeats: The Heart of the Woman

 

William Butler Yeats

(1865 – 1939)

The Heart of the Woman

 

O what to me the little room

That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;

He bade me out into the gloom,

And my breast lies upon his breast.

 

O what to me my mother’s care,

The house where I was safe and warm;

The shadowy blossom of my hair

Will hide us from the bitter storm.

 

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 poetry

fleursdumal.nl magazine

More in: Archive Y-Z, Yeats, William Butler


William Butler Yeats: He Mourns For The Change That Has Come Upon Him And His Beloved, And Longs For The End Of The World

poetry04

William Butler Yeats

(1865-1939)

He Mourns For The Change That Has Come

Upon Him And His Beloved,

And Longs For The End Of The World


Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?
I have been changed to a hound with one red ear;
I have been in the Path of Stones and the Wood of Thorns,
For somebody hid hatred and hope and desire and fear
Under my feet that they follow you night and day.
A man with a hazel wand came without sound;
He changed me suddenly; I was looking another way;
And now my calling is but the calling of a hound;
And Time and Birth and Change are hurrying by.
I would that the Boar without bristles had come from the West
And had rooted the sun and moon and stars out of the sky
And lay in the darkness, grunting, and turning to his rest.

W.B. Yeats poetry

fleursdumal.nl magazine

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