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    The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 1 (of 8) / Poems Lyrical and Narrative
    The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 1 (of 8) / Poems Lyrical and Narrative
    The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 1 (of 8) / Poems Lyrical and Narrative
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    The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 1 (of 8) / Poems Lyrical and Narrative

    By William Butler Yeats

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    The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 1 (of 8) Poems Lyrical and Narrative.

    William Butler Yeats was an Irish poet and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. A pillar of the Irish literary establishment, he helped to found the Abbey Theatre, and in his later years served two terms as a Senator of the Irish Free State.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAegitas
    Release dateNov 11, 2021
    ISBN9780369405999
    The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 1 (of 8) / Poems Lyrical and Narrative
    Author

    William Butler Yeats

    William Butler Yeats is generally considered to be Ireland’s greatest poet, living or dead, and one of the most important literary figures of the twentieth century. He was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1923.

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      Book preview

      The Collected Works in Verse and Prose of William Butler Yeats, Vol. 1 (of 8) / Poems Lyrical and Narrative - William Butler Yeats

      THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS

      THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE

      THE EVERLASTING VOICES

      THE MOODS

      THE LOVER TELLS OF THE ROSE IN HIS HEART

      THE HOST OF THE AIR

      THE FISHERMAN

      A CRADLE SONG

      INTO THE TWILIGHT

      THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS

      THE HEART OF THE WOMAN

      THE LOVER MOURNS FOR THE LOSS OF LOVE

      HE MOURNS FOR THE CHANGE THAT HAS COME UPON HIM AND HIS BELOVED AND LONGS FOR THE END OF THE WORLD

      HE BIDS HIS BELOVED BE AT PEACE

      HE REPROVES THE CURLEW

      HE REMEMBERS FORGOTTEN BEAUTY

      A POET TO HIS BELOVED

      HE GIVES HIS BELOVED CERTAIN RHYMES

      TO MY HEART, BIDDING IT HAVE NO FEAR

      THE CAP AND BELLS

      THE VALLEY OF THE BLACK PIG

      THE LOVER ASKS FORGIVENESS BECAUSE OF HIS MANY MOODS

      HE TELLS OF A VALLEY FULL OF LOVERS

      HE TELLS OF THE PERFECT BEAUTY

      HE HEARS THE CRY OF THE SEDGE

      HE THINKS OF THOSE WHO HAVE SPOKEN EVIL OF HIS BELOVED

      THE BLESSED

      THE SECRET ROSE

      MAID QUIET

      THE TRAVAIL OF PASSION

      THE LOVER PLEADS WITH HIS FRIEND FOR OLD FRIENDS

      A LOVER SPEAKS TO THE HEARERS OF HIS SONGS IN COMING DAYS

      THE POET PLEADS WITH THE ELEMENTAL POWERS

      HE WISHES HIS BELOVED WERE DEAD

      HE WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN

      HE THINKS OF HIS PAST GREATNESS WHEN A PART OF THE CONSTELLATIONS OF HEAVEN

      THE OLD AGE OF QUEEN MAEVE

      BAILE AND AILLINN

      IN THE SEVEN WOODS

      THE ARROW

      THE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED

      OLD MEMORY

      NEVER GIVE ALL THE HEART

      THE WITHERING OF THE BOUGHS

      ADAM’S CURSE

      RED HANRAHAN’S SONG ABOUT IRELAND

      THE OLD MEN ADMIRING THEMSELVES IN THE WATER

      UNDER THE MOON

      THE HOLLOW WOOD

      O DO NOT LOVE TOO LONG

      THE PLAYERS ASK FOR A BLESSING ON THE PSALTERIES AND ON THEMSELVES

      THE HAPPY TOWNLAND

      EARLY POEMS I BALLADS AND LYRICS

      EARLY POEMS: BALLADS AND LYRICS

      THE SONG OF THE HAPPY SHEPHERD

      THE SAD SHEPHERD

      THE CLOAK, THE BOAT, AND THE SHOES

      ANASHUYA AND VIJAYA

      THE INDIAN UPON GOD

      THE INDIAN TO HIS LOVE

      THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES

      EPHEMERA

      THE MADNESS OF KING GOLL

      THE STOLEN CHILD

      TO AN ISLE IN THE WATER

      DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS

      THE MEDITATION OF THE OLD FISHERMAN

      THE BALLAD OF FATHER O’HART

      THE BALLAD OF MOLL MAGEE

      THE BALLAD OF THE FOXHUNTER

      THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN

      THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER

      THE FIDDLER OF DOONEY

      THE DEDICATION TO A BOOK OF STORIES SELECTED FROM THE IRISH NOVELISTS

      EARLY POEMS II THE ROSE

      EARLY POEMS: THE ROSE

      TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OF TIME

      FERGUS AND THE DRUID

      THE DEATH OF CUCHULAIN

      THE ROSE OF THE WORLD

      THE ROSE OF PEACE

      THE ROSE OF BATTLE

      A FAERY SONG

      THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE

      A CRADLE SONG

      THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER

      THE PITY OF LOVE

      THE SORROW OF LOVE

      WHEN YOU ARE OLD

      THE WHITE BIRDS

      A DREAM OF DEATH

      A DREAM OF A BLESSED SPIRIT

      THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND

      THE TWO TREES

      TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES

      EARLY POEMS III THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN

      BOOK I THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN

      BOOK II THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN

      BOOK III THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN

      NOTES

      THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS.

      EARLY POEMS:

      THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS

      THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE

      The host is riding from Knocknarea

      And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare;

      Caolte tossing his burning hair

      And Niamh calling Away, come away:

      Empty your heart of its mortal dream.

      The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,

      Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,

      Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam,

      Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;

      And if any gaze on our rushing band,

      We come between him and the deed of his hand,

      We come between him and the hope of his heart.

      The host is rushing ’twixt night and day,

      And where is there hope or deed as fair?

      Caolte tossing his burning hair,

      And Niamh calling Away, come away.

      THE EVERLASTING VOICES

      O sweet everlasting Voices, be still;

      Go to the guards of the heavenly fold

      And bid them wander obeying your will

      Flame under flame, till Time be no more;

      Have you not heard that our hearts are old,

      That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,

      In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?

      O sweet everlasting Voices, be still.

      THE MOODS

      Time drops in decay,

      Like a candle burnt out,

      And the mountains and woods

      Have their day, have their day;

      What one in the rout

      Of the fire-born moods

      Has fallen away?

      THE LOVER TELLS OF THE ROSE IN HIS HEART

      All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old,

      The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart,

      The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould,

      Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

      The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told;

      I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart,

      With the earth and the sky and the water, remade, like a casket of gold

      For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

      THE HOST OF THE AIR

      O’Driscoll drove with a song

      The wild duck and the drake

      From the tall and the tufted reeds

      Of the drear Hart Lake.

      And he saw how the reeds grew dark

      At the coming of night tide,

      And dreamed of the long dim hair

      Of Bridget his bride.

      He heard while he sang and dreamed

      A piper piping away,

      And never was piping so sad,

      And never was piping so gay.

      And he saw young men and young girls

      Who danced on a level place

      And Bridget his bride among them,

      With a sad and a gay face.

      The dancers crowded about him,

      And many a sweet thing said,

      And a young man brought him red wine

      And a young girl white bread.

      But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,

      Away from the merry bands,

      To old men playing at cards

      With a twinkling of ancient hands.

      The bread and the wine had a doom,

      For these were the host of the air;

      He sat and played in a dream

      Of her long dim hair.

      He played with the merry old men

      And thought not of evil chance,

      Until one bore Bridget his bride

      Away from the merry dance.

      He bore her away in his arms,

      The handsomest young man there,

      And his neck and his breast and his arms

      Were drowned in her long dim hair.

      O’Driscoll scattered the cards

      And out of his dream awoke:

      Old men and young men and young girls

      Were gone like a drifting smoke;

      But he heard high up in the air

      A piper piping away,

      And never was piping so sad,

      And never was piping so gay.

      THE FISHERMAN

      Although you hide in the ebb and flow

      Of the pale tide when the moon has set,

      The people of coming days will know

      About the casting out of my net,

      And how you have leaped times out of mind

      Over the little silver cords,

      And think that you were hard and unkind,

      And blame you with many bitter words.

      A CRADLE SONG

      The Danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,

      And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,

      For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,

      With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold:

      I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast,

      And hear the narrow graves calling my child and me.

      Desolate winds that cry over the wandering sea;

      Desolate winds that hover in the flaming West;

      Desolate winds that beat the doors of Heaven, and beat

      The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost;

      O heart the winds have shaken; the unappeasable host

      Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary’s feet.

      INTO THE TWILIGHT

      Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn,

      Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;

      Laugh, heart, again in the gray twilight,

      Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.

      Your mother Eire is always young,

      Dew ever shining and twilight gray;

      Though hope fall from you and love decay,

      Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.

      Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill

      For there the mystical brotherhood

      Of sun and moon and hollow and wood

      And river and stream work out their will;

      And God stands winding His lonely horn,

      And time and the world are ever in flight;

      And love is less kind than the gray twilight

      And hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.

      THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS

      I went out to the hazel wood,

      Because a fire was in my head,

      And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

      And hooked a berry to a thread;

      And when white moths were on the wing,

      And moth-like stars were flickering out,

      I dropped the berry in a stream

      And caught a little silver trout.

      When I had laid it on the floor

      I went to blow the fire a-flame,

      But something rustled on the floor,

      And someone called me by my name:

      It had become a glimmering girl

      With apple blossom in her hair

      Who called me by my name and ran

      And faded through the brightening air.

      Though I am old with wandering

      Through hollow lands and hilly lands,

      I will find out where she has gone,

      And kiss her lips and take her hands;

      And

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