I cast my heart into my rhymes, That you, in the dim coming times, May know how my heart went with them After the red-rose-bordered hem.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSI cast my heart into my rhymes, That you, in the dim coming times, May know how my heart went with them After the red-rose-bordered hem.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSRose of all Roses, Rose of all the World! You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled. Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSChoose your companions from the best; Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSWhere there is nothing, there is God.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSWine enters through the mouth, Love, the eyes. I raise the glass to my mouth, I look at you, I sigh.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSBut 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 YEATSThe Irishman sustains himself during brief periods of joy by the knowledge that tragedy is just around the corner.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSLove is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSOne man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSOnly that which does not teach, which does not cry out, which does not condescend, which does not explain, is irresistible.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSAll men live in suffering I know as few can know, Whether they take the upper road Or stay content on the low.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSWords are always getting conventionalized to some secondary meaning. It is one of the works of poetry to take the truants in custody and bring them back to their right senses.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSEverything that’s lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSAnd pluck till time and times are done the silver apples of the moon the golden apples of the sun.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSIt seems to me that love, if it is fine, is essentially a discipline.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATSWe taste and feel and see the truth. We do not reason ourselves into it.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS