All Poems
/ page 1509 of 3210 /
On A Picture Of A Black Centaur By Edmund Dulac
© William Butler Yeats
Your hooves have stamped at the black margin of the wood,
Even where horrible green parrots call and swing.
My works are all stamped down into the sultry mud.
I knew that horse-play, knew it for a murderous thing.
The Wheel
© William Butler Yeats
Through winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
To A Young Beauty
© William Butler Yeats
Dear fellow-artist, why so free
With every sort of company,
With every Jack and Jill?
Choose your companions from the best;
Who draws a bucket with the rest
Soon topples down the hill.
A Man Young And Old: X. His Wildness
© William Butler Yeats
O bid me mount and sail up there
Amid the cloudy wrack,
For peg and Meg and Paris' love
That had so straight a back,
Are gone away, and some that stay
Have changed their silk for sack.
The Cloak, The Boat And The Shoes
© William Butler Yeats
'I make the cloak of Sorrow:
O lovely to see in all men's sight
Shall be the cloak of Sorrow,
In all men's sight.'
The Witch
© William Butler Yeats
Toil and grow rich,
What's that but to lie
With a foul witch
And after, drained dry,
The Song Of The Happy Shepherd
© William Butler Yeats
The woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
A Meditation In Time Of War
© William Butler Yeats
For one throb of the artery,
While on that old grey stone I Sat
Under the old wind-broken tree,
I knew that One is animate,
Mankind inanimate phantasy.
The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart
© William Butler Yeats
All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old,The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart,The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould,Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart
The Fascination Of What's Difficult
© William Butler Yeats
The fascination of what's difficult
Has dried the sap out of my veins, and rent
Spontaneous joy and natural content
Out of my heart. There's something ails our colt
In Tara's Halls
© William Butler Yeats
A man I praise that once in Tara's Hals
Said to the woman on his knees, 'Lie still.
My hundredth year is at an end. I think
That something is about to happen, I think
The Wild Old Wicked Man
© William Butler Yeats
Because I am mad about women
I am mad about the hills,'
Said that wild old wicked man
Who travels where God wills.
Sixteen Dead Men
© William Butler Yeats
O but we talked at large before
The sixteen men were shot,
But who can talk of give and take,
What should be and what not
While those dead men are loitering there
To stir the boiling pot?
Demon And Beast
© William Butler Yeats
For certain minutes at the least
That crafty demon and that loud beast
That plague me day and night
Ran out of my sight;
On Woman
© William Butler Yeats
May God be praised for woman
That gives up all her mind,
A man may find in no man
A friendship of her kind
The Fiddler Of Dooney
© William Butler Yeats
When I play on my fiddle in Dooney.
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.
Her Anxiety
© William Butler Yeats
Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.
A Man Young And Old: III. The Mermaid
© William Butler Yeats
A mermaid found a swimming lad,
Picked him for her own,
Pressed her body to his body,
Laughed; and plunging down
Forgot in cruel happiness
That even lovers drown.
Cuchulain Comforted
© William Butler Yeats
A man that had six mortal wounds, a man
Violent and famous, strode among the dead;
Eyes stared out of the branches and were gone.
Spilt Milk
© William Butler Yeats
We that have done and thought,
That have thought and done,
Must ramble, and thin out
Like milk spilt on a stone.
