Treasure Island

William Butler Yeats

(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)

He Gives His Beloved Certain Rhymes


FASTEN your hair with a golden pin,
And bind up every wandering tress;
I bade my heart build these poor rhymes:
It worked at them, day out, day in,
Building a sorrowful loveliness
Out of the battles of old times.
You need but lift a pearl-pale hand,
And bind up your long hair and sigh;
And all men's hearts must burn and beat;
And candle-like foam on the dim sand,
And stars climbing the dew-dropping sky,
Live but to light your passing feet.

Submitted: Tuesday, May 15, 2001
Edited: Tuesday, May 15, 2001

Do you like this poem?
0 person liked.
0 person did not like.

Read poems about / on: hair, sky, light, heart, star, work

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Comments about this poem (He Gives His Beloved Certain Rhymes by William Butler Yeats )

Enter the verification code :

There is no comment submitted by members..

Top Poems

  1. Phenomenal Woman
    Maya Angelou
  2. The Road Not Taken
    Robert Frost
  3. If You Forget Me
    Pablo Neruda
  4. Still I Rise
    Maya Angelou
  5. Dreams
    Langston Hughes
  6. Annabel Lee
    Edgar Allan Poe
  7. If
    Rudyard Kipling
  8. Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
    Robert Frost
  9. I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
    Maya Angelou
  10. Invictus
    William Ernest Henley

New Poems

  1. Earth's Greediest Ruling Government?, Terence G. Craddock
  2. She's The Devil and I am Her Sin, A.j. Binash
  3. depths within the shallows, Metaphorically Speaking
  4. You are leading being the head, gajanan mishra
  5. Chasing Rainbows, Rachel Nichols
  6. Rasta bhoole nahi thhe, ANJALI KAKATI
  7. Without Purpose Or Reason Affixed, Lawrence S. Pertillar
  8. The Baobab Tree, I Am Krakatoa
  9. Game of chance, Aftab Alam
  10. 'Tween Love and Hatred,, Aftab Alam

Poem of the Day

poet William Wordsworth

I

I AM not One who much or oft delight
To season my fireside with personal talk.--
Of friends, who live within an easy walk,
Or neighbours, daily, weekly, in my sight:
...... Read complete »

   
[Hata Bildir]