Selected Poem Verses From William Butler Yeats

Selected Poem Verses From William Butler Yeats Here are the poem lyrics of some of the best William Butler Yeats poetry. To make your browsing more effective, we have included a bit of each poem after the title. A Poet to His BelovedWilliam Butler YeatsI bring you with reverent handsThe books of my numberless dreams,White woman that passion has wornAs the tide wears the dove-grey sands, A Prayer for My DaughterWilliam Butler YeatsOnce more the storm is howling, and half hidUnder this cradle-hood and coverlidMy child sleeps on. There is no obstacleBut Gregorys wood and one bare hill A Prayer for My SonWilliam Butler YeatsBid a strong ghost stand at the headThat my Michael may sleep sound,Nor cry, nor turn in the bedTill his morning meal come round; A Prayer on Going Into My HouseWilliam Butler YeatsGod grant a blessing on this tower and cottageAnd on my heirs, if all remain unspoiled,No table or chair or stool not simple enoughFor shepherd lads in Galilee; and grant Adams CurseWilliam Butler YeatsGod grant a blessing on this tower and cottageAnd on my heirs, if all remain unspoiled,No table or chair or stool not simple enoughFor shepherd lads in Galilee; and grant Aedh Wishes for the Clothes of HeavenWilliam Butler YeatsHad I the heavens embroidered cloths,Enwrought with golden and silver light,The blue and the dim and the dark clothsOf night and light and the half light, Among School ChildrenWilliam Butler YeatsI walk through the long schoolroom questioning;A kind old nun in a white hood replies;The children learn to cipher and to sing,To study reading-books and histories, An Irish Airman Forsees His DeathWilliam Butler YeatsI know that I shall meet my fateSomewhere among the clouds above;Those that I fight I do not hate,Those that I guard I do not love; Are You Content?William Butler YeatsI call on those that call me son,Grandson, or great-grandson,On uncles, aunts, great-uncles or great-aunts,To judge what I have done. Before the World Was MadeWilliam Butler YeatsIf I make the lashes darkAnd the eyes more brightAnd the lips more scarlet,Or ask if all be right Beggar to Beggar CriedWilliam Butler YeatsTime to put off the world and go somewhereAnd find my health again in the sea air,Beggar to beggar cried, being frenzy-struck,And make my soul before my pate is bare.- ByzantiumWilliam Butler YeatsThe unpurged images of day recede;The Emperors drunken soldiery are abed;Night resonance recedes, night walkers songAfter great cathedral gong; Crazy Jane on GodWilliam Butler YeatsThat lover of a nightCame when he would,Went in the dawning lightWhether I would or no; DeathWilliam Butler YeatsNor dread nor hope attendA dying animal;A man awaits his endDreading and hoping all; Demon and BeastWilliam Butler YeatsFor certain minutes at the leastThat crafty demon and that loud beastThat plague me day and nightRan out of my sight;Easter, 1916William Butler YeatsI have met them at close of dayComing with vivid facesFrom counter or desk among greyEighteenth-century houses.EphemeraWilliam Butler YeatsYour eyes that once were never weary of mineAre bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,Because our love is waning.And then She:Fallen MajestyWilliam Butler YeatsAlthough crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,And even old mens eyes grew dim, this hand alone,Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-placeBabbling of fallen majesty, records whats gone.He Bids His Beloved Be at PeaceWilliam Butler YeatsI hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake,Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmeringwhite; The North unfolds above them clinging, creepingnight, The East her hidden joy before the morning break,He Remembers Forgotten BeautyWilliam Butler YeatsW hen my arms wrap you round I pressMy heart upon the lovelinessThat has long faded from the world;The jewelled crowns that kings have hurledHe Thinks of Those Who Have Spoken Evil of His BelovedWilliam Butler YeatsHalf close your eyelids, loosen your hair,And dream about the great and their pride;They have spoken against you everywhere,But weigh this song with the great and their pride;Imitated From the JapaneseWilliam Butler YeatsA most astonishing thing Seventy years have I lived;(Hurrah for the flowers of Spring,For Spring is here again.)Lapis LazuliWilliam Butler YeatsI have heard that hysterical women sayThey are sick of the palette and fiddle-bow. Of poets that are always gay,For everybody knows or else should knowLeda and the SwanWilliam Butler YeatsA sudden blow: the great wings beating stillAbove the staggering girl, her thighs caressedBy the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.Long-Legged FlyWilliam Butler YeatsThat civilisation may not sink,Its great battle lost,Quiet the dog, tether the ponyTo a distant post;Mohini ChatterjeeWilliam Butler YeatsI asked if I should pray.But the Brahmin said,pray for nothing, sayEvery night in bed,Never Give All the HeartWilliam Butler YeatsNever give all the heart, for loveWill hardly seem worth thinking ofTo passionate women if it seemCertain, and they never dreamNo Second TroyWilliam Butler YeatsWhy should I blame her that she filled my daysWith misery, or that she would of lateHave taught to ignorant men most violent ways,Or hurled the little streets upon the great.ResponsibilitiesWilliam Butler YeatsPardon, old fathers, if you still rem ainSomewhere in ear-shot for the storys end,Old Dublin merchant free of the ten and fourOr trading out of Galway into Spain;Sailing to ByzantiumWilliam Butler YeatsThat is no country for old men. The youngIn one anothers arms, birds in the treesThose dying generationsat their song,The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Solomon and the WitchWilliam Butler YeatsAnd thus declared that Arab lady:Last night, where under the wild moonOn grassy mattress I had laid me,Within my arms great Solomon, Solomon to ShebaWilliam Butler YeatsSang Solomon to Sheba,And kissed her dusky face,All day long from mid-dayWe have talked in the one place, Spilt MilkWilliam Butler YeatsWe that have done and thought,That have thought and done, The Fascination of Whats DifficultWilliam Butler YeatsThe fascination of whats difficultHas dried the sap out of my veins, and rentSpontaneous joy and natural contentOut of my heart. Theres something ails our colt The Folly of Being ComfortedWilliam Butler YeatsOne that is ever kind said yesterday:Your well-beloveds hair has threads of grey,And little shadows come about her eyes;Time can but make it easier to be wise The GyresWilliam Butler YeatsThe gyres! the gyres! Old Rocky Face, look forth;Things thought too long can be no longer thought,For beauty dies of beauty, worth of worth,And ancient lineaments are blotted out. The Heart of the WomanWilliam Butler YeatsO what to me the little roomThat was brimmed up with prayer and rest;He bade me out into the gloom,And my breast lies upon his breast. The Indian to His LoveWilliam Butler YeatsThe island dreams under the dawnAnd great boughs drop tranquillity;The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,A parrot sways upon a tree, The Indian Upon GodWilliam Butler YeatsI passed along the waters edge below the humid trees,My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees,My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moor-fowl paceAll dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase The Lake Isle of InnisfreeWilliam Butler YeatsI 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 honeybee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade. The Lover Asks Forgiveness Because of His Many MoodsWilliam Butler YeatsIf this importunate heart trouble your peaceWith words lighter than air,Or hopes that in mere hoping flicker and cease;Crumple the rose in your hair; The Second ComingWilliam Butler YeatsTurning and turning in the widening gyreThe falcon cannot hear the falconer;Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world, The Stolen ChildWilliam Butler YeatsWhere dips the rocky highlandOf Sleuth Wood in the lake,There lies a leafy islandWhere flapping herons wake The Two TreesWilliam Butler YeatsBeloved, gaze in thine own heart,The holy tree is growing there;From joy the holy branches start,And all the trembling flowers they bear. The Wild Swans at CooleWilliam Butler YeatsThe trees are in their autumn beauty,The woodland paths are dry,Under the October twilight the waterMirrors a still sky; To a Poet, Who Would Have Me Praise Certain Bad Poets, Imitators of His and MineWilliam Butler YeatsYou say, as I have often given tongueIn praise of what anothers said or sung, When You Are OldWilliam Butler YeatsWhen 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 lookYour eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;