William Butler Yeats

[W.B. Yeats] (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)

William Butler Yeats Poems

1. The Death of Cuchulain 6/13/2015
2. The Three Monuments 5/17/2001
3. Tom O'Roughley 5/17/2001
4. The Shadowy Waters: The Harp Of Aengus 1/13/2003
5. Veronica's Napkin 5/17/2001
6. The Lover Speaks To The Hearers Of His Songs In Coming Days 5/17/2001
7. To A Wealthy Man Who Promised A Second Subscription To The Dublin Municipal Gallery If It Were Proved The People Wanted Pictures 5/17/2001
8. The Mountain Tomb 5/17/2001
9. The Shadowy Waters: Introductory Lines 1/13/2003
10. The Statesman's Holiday 5/17/2001
11. The Seven Sages 5/17/2001
12. Tom At Cruachan 1/13/2003
13. Under The Round Tower 5/17/2001
14. Under Saturn 5/17/2001
15. The Gift Of Harun Al-Rashid 5/17/2001
16. The Old Age Of Queen Maeve 5/17/2001
17. The Travail Of Passion 5/17/2001
18. The Three Hermits 5/17/2001
19. To Dorothy Wellesley 5/17/2001
20. Those Images 5/17/2001
21. The Two Kings 5/17/2001
22. Three Songs To The Same Tune 5/17/2001
23. To A Wealthy Man Who Promised A Second Subscription To The Dublin Municipal Gallery If It Were 1/1/2004
24. The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book Iii 1/3/2003
25. The Moods 5/17/2001
26. The Valleys Of The Black Pig 5/17/2001
27. To A Squirrel At Kyle-Na-No 1/13/2003
28. The Pilgrim 5/17/2001
29. The Shadowy Waters 5/17/2001
30. Upon A Dying Lady 5/17/2001
31. Two Songs Rewritten For The Tune's Sake 5/17/2001
32. Vacilliation 5/17/2001
33. To A Poet, Who Would Have Me Praise Certain Bad Poets, Imitators Of His And Mine 5/17/2001
34. Towards Break Of Day 5/17/2001
35. Two Songs Of A Fool 1/3/2003
36. The Three Beggars 12/31/2002
37. These Are The Clouds 5/17/2001
38. The Spirit Medium 5/17/2001
39. The Lady's Third Song 5/17/2001
40. The Statues 5/17/2001
Best Poem of William Butler Yeats

When You Are Old

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Read the full of When You Are Old

The White Birds

I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:

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