William Butler Yeats

  • Katheryn Hardenhar citeretsidste år
    In this life
    Of error, ignorance, and strife,
    Where nothing is, but all things seem,
    And we the shadows of the dream,

    It is a modest creed, and yet
    Pleasant, if one considers it,
    To own that death itself must be,
    Like all the rest, a mockery.

    This garden sweet, that lady fair,
    And all sweet shapes and odours there,
    In truth have never passed away;
    ’Tis we, ’tis ours are changed, not they.
  • Katheryn Hardenhar citeretsidste år
    For love and beauty and delight
    There is no death, nor change; their might
    Exceeds our organs, which endure
    No light, being themselves obscure.’
  • Katheryn Hardenhar citeretsidste år
    ‘Tired with all these, for restful death I cry;—
    As, to behold desert a beggar born,
    And needy nothing trimm’d in jollity,
    And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
    And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,
    And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
    And right perfection wrongfully disgrac’d,
    And strength by limping sway disabled,
    And Art made tongue-tied by authority,
    And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,
    And simple truth miscalled simplicity,
    And captive good attending captain ill:
    Tired with all these, from these would I begone
    Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.’
  • Katheryn Hardenhar citeretsidste år
    ‘The joy of woman is the death of her beloved,
    Who dies for love of her,
    In torments of fierce jealousy and pangs of adoration.
    The lover’s night bears on my song,
    And the nine spheres rejoice beneath my powerful control.

    They sing unwearied to the notes of my immortal hand.
    The solemn, silent moon
    Reverberates the long harmony sounding upon my limbs.
    The birds and beasts rejoice and play,
    And every one seeks for his mate to prove his inmost joy.

    Furious and terrible they rend the nether deep,
    The deep lifts up his rugged head,
    And lost in infinite hovering wings vanishes with a cry.
    The fading cry is ever dying,
    The living voice is ever living in its inmost
  • Katheryn Hardenhar citeretsidste år
    ‘For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
    Is God Our Father dear;
    And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
    Is man, His child and care.

    For Mercy has a human heart;
    Pity a human face;
    And Love the human form divine;
    And Peace, the human dress.

    Then every man of every clime,
    That prays in his distress,
    Prays to the human form divine—
    Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.’
    Whenever he gave this symbol a habitation in space he set it in the sun, the father of light and life; and set in the darkness beyond the stars, where light and life die away
  • Menna Abu Zahrahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    was born in Dublin, educated both there and in London.
  • Menna Abu Zahrahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    Ireland’s national poet
  • Menna Abu Zahrahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    being one of the major twentieth-century literary figures of the English tongue. T
  • Menna Abu Zahrahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    His fame was greatly boosted after he received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1923.
  • Menna Abu Zahrahar citeretfor 2 år siden
    Yeat’s life was marked by his many love stories, by his great interest in oriental mysticism and occultism as well as by political engagement; he served as an Irish senator for two terms.
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