William Butler Yeats

[W.B. Yeats] (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)

William Butler Yeats Poems

281. The Moods 5/17/2001
282. The Mother Of God 5/17/2001
283. The Mountain Tomb 5/17/2001
284. The Municipal Gallery Revisited 5/17/2001
285. The New Faces 5/17/2001
286. The Nineteenth Century And After 5/17/2001
287. The Old Age Of Queen Maeve 5/17/2001
288. The Old Men Admiring Themselves In The Water 5/17/2001
289. The Old Stone Cross 5/17/2001
290. The O'Rahilly 5/17/2001
291. The Peacock 1/13/2003
292. The People 5/17/2001
293. The Phases Of The Moon 5/17/2001
294. The Pilgrim 5/17/2001
295. The Pity Of Love 5/17/2001
296. The Player Queen 12/31/2002
297. The Players Ask For A Blessing On The Psalteries And On Themselves 5/17/2001
298. The Poet Pleads With The Elemental Powers 5/17/2001
299. The Ragged Wood 5/17/2001
300. The Realists 5/17/2001
301. The Results Of Thought 5/17/2001
302. The Rose In The Deeps Of His Heart 1/3/2003
303. The Rose Of Battle 5/17/2001
304. The Rose Of Peace 5/17/2001
305. The Rose Of The World 5/17/2001
306. The Rose Tree 5/17/2001
307. The Sad Shepherd 5/17/2001
308. The Saint And The Hunchback 5/17/2001
309. The Scholars 5/17/2001
310. The Second Coming 5/17/2001
311. The Secret Rose 5/17/2001
312. The Seven Sages 5/17/2001
313. The Shadowy Waters 5/17/2001
314. The Shadowy Waters: Introductory Lines 1/13/2003
315. The Shadowy Waters: The Harp Of Aengus 1/13/2003
316. The Shadowy Waters: The Shadowy Waters 1/13/2003
317. The Song Of The Happy Shepherd 5/17/2001
318. The Song Of The Old Mother 5/17/2001
319. The Song Of Wandering Aengus 5/17/2001
320. The Sorrow Of Love 5/17/2001
Best Poem of William Butler Yeats

When You Are Old

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Read the full of When You Are Old

The White Birds

I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:

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