|
|
 |
|
|
User Rating: |
|
9.8
/10
(6
votes)
|
|
|
|
|
|
I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.
Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
William Butler Yeats
|
|
Read poems about / on: horse, beauty, school, death, faith, winter, change, woman, summer, beautiful, nature, child, friend, song, green, mother, fire, dream, sleep, heaven
|
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
Comments about this poem (Easter, 1916
by
William Butler Yeats
) |
|
Click here to write your
comments about this poem (Easter, 1916 by
William Butler Yeats
)
 |
Cynthia Ventura
(6/14/2008 7:12:00 PM) |
This is the most amazing poem ever written. The imagery and emotion his words evoke wash over me anew every time I read this poem. Do yourself a favor and read anything by Yeats you can get your hands on and memorize this poem!
|
|
|
|
Gloria Rogers
(4/2/2006 11:58:00 AM) |
My grandparents lived through this terrible time in Ireland... I was born in Dublin, Eire and was raised with the knowledge of the terrible things that had occurred, but this poem is incredible... this is the first time I have read this poem... and it cuts to the heart.
|
|
Read all
2
comments >>
|
|
|
 |
 |
 |
|
|
 |
|
People who read
William Butler Yeats
|
 |
|
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
