Sometimes my feet are tired and my hands are quiet, but there is no quiet in my heart.
W.B. YeatsI have spread my dreams beneath your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
W.B. YeatsMots clés inspirational
The living can assist the imagination of the dead...
W.B. Yeats . . . after twenty centuries of stony sleep, what rough beast, its hour come round at last, slouches toward Bethlehem to be born?"
W.B. Yeats - from 'The Second Coming
Mots clés poetry
Who can distinguish darkness from the soul?
W.B. YeatsLabor is blossoming or dancing where
The body is not bruised to pleasure soul
Nor beauty born out of its own despair,
Nor blear-eyed wisdom out of midnight oil.
At midnight on the Emperor’s pavement flit
Flames that no faggot feeds, nor steel has lit,
Nor storm disturbs, flames begotten of flame,
Where blood-begotten spirits come
And all complexities of fury leave,
Dying into a dance,
An agony of trance,
An agony of flame that cannot singe a sleeve.
My anthology continues to sell
W.B. YeatsI had this thought a while ago,
"My darling cannot understand
What I have done, or what would do
In this blind bitter land.'
And I grew weary of the sun
Until my thoughts cleared up again,
Remembering that the best I have done
Was done to make it plain;
That every year I have cried, "At length
My darling understands it all,
Because I have come into my strength,
And words obey my call';
That had she done so who can say
What would have shaken from the sieve?
I might have thrown poor words away
And been content to live.
Sing, for it may be that your thoughts have plucked Some medicable herb to make our grief Less bitter.
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