Quotes
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Edain came out of Midhir's hill, and lay. Beside young Aengus in his tower of glass, Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds. And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs, And sleepy boughs, and boughs where apples made. Of opal and ruhy and pale chrysolite. Awake unsleeping fires; and wove seven strings, Sweet with all music, out of his long hair, Because her hands had been made wild by love. When Midhir's wife had changed her to a fly, He made a harp with Druid apple-wood. That she among her...
William Butler Yeats
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. All that you need is patience.'Heart cries, '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...
William Butler Yeats
I believe when I am in the mood that all nature is full of people whom we cannot see, and that some of these are ugly or grotesque, and some wicked or foolish, but very many beautiful beyond any one we have ever seen, and that these are not far away....the simple of all times and the wise men of ancient times have seen them and even spoken to them.
William Butler Yeats
A couple of hours after Sunset Michael Robartes returned and told me that I would have to learn the steps of an exceedingly antique dance, because before my initiation could be perfected I had to join three times in a magical dance, for rhythm was the wheel of Eternity, on which alone the transient and accidental could be broken, and the spirit set free.
William Butler Yeats
O SWEET everlasting Voices, be still;
Go to the guards of the heavenly fold
And bid them wander obeying your will,
Flame under flame, till Time be no more;
Have you not heard that our hearts are old,
That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,
In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?
O sweet everlasting Voices, be still.
William Butler Yeats
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