W.B. Yeats



A crazy man that found a cup

A cursing rogue with a merry face

A doll in the doll-maker's house

A man came slowly from the setting sun

A mermaid found a swimming lad

A pity beyond all telling

A strange thing surely that my Heart, when love had come unsought

A sudden blow: the great wings beating still

Ah, that Time could touch a form

All the heavy days are over

All things can tempt me from this craft of verse

All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old

Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face

Although I shelter from the rain

Although you hide in the ebb and flow

An affable Irregular

An ancient bridge, and a more ancient tower

As I came over Windy Gap

Autumn is over the long leaves that love us


Be you still, be you still, trembling heart

Being out of heart with government

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart

Bid a strong ghost stand at the head


Come round me, little childer

Cumhal called out, bending his head


Dance there upon the shore

Dear Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into our case

Do you not hear me calling, white deer with no horns?

Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet


Endure what life God gives and ask no longer span


Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose

Fasten your hair with a golden pin


Good Father John O'Hart


Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths

Half close your eyelids, loosen your hair

Has no one said those daring

Having inherited a vigorous mind

He stood among a crowd at Drumahair

Hope that you may understand!

How should the world be luckier if this house

Hurry to bless the hands that play


I bring you with reverent hands

I climb to the tower-top and lean upon broken stone

I cried when the moon was murmuring to the birds

I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs

I dreamed that one had died in a strange place

I had this thought a while ago

I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young

I have heard the pigeons of the Seven Woods

I have no happiness in dreaming of Brycelinde

I have old women's secrets now

I have pointed out the yelling pack

I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake

I heard the old, old men say

I made my song a coat

I passed along the water's edge below the humid trees

I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow

I sat on cushioned otter-skin

I saw a staring virgin stand

I swayed upon the gaudy stern

I thought of your beauty, and this arrow

I walk through the long schoolroom questioning [Colonus' Praise]

I walk through the long schoolroom questioning [Among School Children]

I wander by the edge

I went out to the hazel wood

I whispered, „I am too young,“

I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree

I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!

If any man drew near

If Michael, leader of God's host

If this importunate heart trouble your peace

If you have revisited the town, thin Shade

If you, that have grown old, were the first dead

Indignant at the fumbling wits, the obscure spite


Know, that I would accounted be


Laughter not time destroyed my voice

Lay me in a cushioned chair

Like the moon her kindness is

Locke sank into a swoon


Many ingenious lovely things are gone

Midnight has come and the great Christ Church bell

Much did I rage when young

My mother dandled me and sang


Never give all the heart, for love

Now all the truth is out

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye

Now must I these three praise


O bid me mount and sail up there

O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes

O curlew, cry no more in the air

O heart, be at peace, because

O hurry where by water among the trees

O sweet everlasting Voices, be still

O thought, fly to her when the end of day

O what to me the little room

O women, kneeling by your altar-rails long hence

O'Driscoll drove with a song

Once, when midnight smote the air

One that is ever kind said yesterday

Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn


Pale brows, still hands and dim hair

Pardon, old fathers, if you still remain

Poets with whom I learned my trade

Pour wine and dance if manhood still have pride

Put off that mask of burning gold


Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!

Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!


Send peace on all the lands and flickering corn

She lived in storm and strife

Shy one, shy one

Sickness brought me this

Some may have blamed you that you took away

Suddenly I saw the cold and rook-delighting heaven

Surely among a rich man's flowering lawns

Swear by what the sages spoke

Sweetheart, do not love too long


That is no country for old men. The young

The angels are stooping

The bees build in the crevices

The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves

The Danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold

The dews drop slowly and dreams gather: unknown spears

The fascination of what's difficult

The host is riding from Knocknarea

The island dreams under the dawn

The jester walked in the garden

The moments passed as at a play

The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand

The old priest Peter Gilligan

The Powers whose name and shape no living creature knows

The true faith discovered was

The woods of Arcady are dead

There was a green branch hung with many a bell

There was a man whom Sorrow named his friend

There where the course is

There's many a strong farmer

These are the clouds about the fallen sun

They hold their public meetings where

This whole day have I followed in the rocks

Though leaves are many, the root is one

Though nurtured like the sailing moon

Though to my feathers in the wet

Though you are in your shining days

Three old hermits took the air

Through winter-time we call on spring

Time drops in decay

Time to put off the world and go somewhere

Toil and grow rich

Turning and turning in the widening gyre

Two heavy trestles, and a board


We have cried in our despair

We sat together at one summer's end

We sat under an old thorn-tree

We should be hidden from their eyes

We who are old, old and gay

Were you but lying cold and dead

What do you make so fair and bright?

What need you, being come to sense

What shall I do with this absurdity

What's riches to him

When all works that have

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney

When my arms wrap you round I press

When the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide

When you are old and grey and full of sleep

Where dips the rocky highland

Where has Maid Quiet gone to

Where, where but here have pride and Truth

While I wrought out these fitful Danaan rhymes

While I, that reed-throated whisperer

Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?

Who will go drive with Fergus now

Why should I blame her that she filled my days

Wine comes in at the mouth

Would it were anything but merely voice!


You gave, but will not give again

You say, as I have often given tongue

You waves, though you dance by my feet like children at play

Your eyes that once were never weary of mine

Your hooves have stamped at the black margin of the wood