William Butler Yeats

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

Where My Books Go - Poem by William Butler Yeats

All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken’d or starry bright.

Comments about Where My Books Go by William Butler Yeats

  • Fabrizio Frosini Fabrizio Frosini (10/14/2015 4:25:00 AM)

    ''... it is William Butler Yeats’ declaration of the personal drive that leads him to literary inspiration. A mere eight lines long, the poem widely differs from many of his other poems− it is short, it is void of complex references, and is distinctly removed from layered diction usually prevalent in Yeats’ poetry. It is his literary impetus, the gist of his creative motivation. The poem is a statement of purpose, the revelation of his personal and profession mission. ... ''
    [from an analysis by Matthew Adams ] (Report) Reply

    42 person liked.
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  • Pete Berney (11/21/2013 10:47:00 PM)

    I've been reading Yeats for 30 years, but can't remember reading this. Beautiful. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: sad, night, heart, water

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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