Quotes from William Butler Yeats

O but we dreamed to mendWhatever mischief seemedTo afflict mankind, but nowThat winds of winter blowLearn that we were crack-pated when we dreamed.

The years like great black oxen tread the world And God, the herdsman, goads them on behind.

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves,The brilliant moon and all the milky sky,And all that famous harmony of leaves,Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

What were all the world's alarmsTo mighty Paris when he foundSleep upon a golden bedThat first dawn in Helen's arms?

The light of lights looks always on the motive, not the deed, the shadow of shadows on the deed alone.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,A lonely impulse of delightDrove to this tumult in the clouds.

All hatred driven hence,The soul recovers radical innocenceAnd learns at last that it is self-delighting,Self-appeasing, self-affrighting,And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will.

Who can tell the dancer from the dance?

An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.

The unpurged images of day recede;The Emperor's drunken soldiery are abed;Night resonance recedes, night-walkers' songAfter great cathedral gong.

A thoughtOf that late death took all my heart for speech.

I am of a healthy long lived race, and our minds improve with age.

The woods of Arcady are dead,And over is their antique joy;Of old the world on dreaming fed;Gray Truth is now her painted toy.

Wine comes in at the mouthAnd love comes in at the eye;That's all we shall know for truthBefore we grow old and die.

The fascination of what's difficultHas dried the sap out of my veins, and rentSpontaneous joy and natural contentOut of my heart.

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,Folk dance like a wave of the sea.

How can we know the dancer from the dance?

I heard the old, old men say,"All that's beautiful drifts awayLike the waters."

To be born woman is to know - although they do not speak of it at school - women must labor to be beautiful.

It's certain there is no fine thing Since Adam's fall but needs much laboring.

Turning and turning in the widening gyreThe falcon cannot hear the falconer;Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhereThe ceremony of innocence is drowned;The best lack all conviction, while the worstAre full of passionate intensity.

Only God, my dear,Could love you for yourself aloneAnd not your yellow hair.

If soul may look and body touch,Which is the more blest?

Choose your companions from the best Who draws a bucket with the rest soon topples down the hill.