William Butler Yeats

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

The Living Beauty - Poem by William Butler Yeats

I BADE, because the wick and oil are spent
And frozen are the channels of the blood,
My discontented heart to draw content
From beauty that is cast out of a mould
In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears,
Appears, but when wc have gone is gone again,
Being more indifferent to our solitude
Than 'twere an apparition. O heart, we are old;
The living beauty is for younger men:
We cannot pay its rribute of wild tears.

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Read poems about / on: solitude, beauty, heart

Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 17, 2001

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