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W.B. Yeats

DANCE there upon the shore;What need have you to careFor wind or water’s roar?And tumble out your hairThat the salt drops have wet;Being young you have not knownThe fool’s triumph, nor yetLove lost as soon as won,Nor the best labourer deadAnd all the sheaves to bind.What need have you to dreadThe monstrous crying of wind!… Continue reading W.B. Yeats

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Anthology · British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Fragment · Irish Culture · Irish Literary Renaissance · Irish Literary Revival · Irish Literature · Lyricism · Passage · Poetry · Romanticism

W.B. Yeats

near me,Come near, come near, come near — Ah, leave me stillA little space for the rose–breath to fill! — W.B. Yeats, from “To the Rose upon the Rood of Time,” The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats (Scribner; 2nd Revised edition, September 9, 1996) Originally published 1950.

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W.B. Yeats

I bring you with reverent handsThe books of my numberless dreams. — W.B. Yeats, from “A Poet to His Beloved,”  The Wind Among the Reeds. (Woodstock Books September 1994) Originally published December 1899.

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British Culture · British Literature · Classic · Collection · Excerpt · Fragment · Irish Culture · Irish Literary Renaissance · Irish Literary Revival · Irish Literature · Lyrical Poetry · Lyricism · Passage · Poetry · Romanticism

W.B. Yeats

I know that I shall meet my fate / Somewhere among the clouds above; / Those that I fight I do not hate / Those that I guard I do not love. ― W.B. Yeats, from “An Irish Airman Foresees His Death,” The Wild Swans at Coole. (Andesite Press August 8, 2015) Originally published 1919.

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W.B. Yeats

The Lake Isle of Innisfree I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,Dropping from the… Continue reading W.B. Yeats

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W.B. Yeats

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,And evening full of the linnet’s wings. —W.B. Yeats, from “The Lake Isle of Innisfree,” The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats. (Scribner; 2nd Revised… Continue reading W.B. Yeats

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Anthology · British Culture · Classic · Collection · Compilation · Excerpt · Irish Culture · Irish Literary Renaissance · Irish Literary Revival · Irish Literature · Poetry · Romanticism

W.B. Yeats

Ephemera ‘Your eyes that once were never weary of mineAre bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,Because our love is waning.’ And then she:‘Although our love is waning, let us standBy the long border of the lake once more,Together in that hour of gentlenessWhen the poor tired child, Passion, falls asleep:How far away the stars seem,… Continue reading W.B. Yeats

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