William Butler Yeats

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

William Butler Yeats Poems

321. The Spur 5/17/2001
322. The Statesman's Holiday 5/17/2001
323. The Statues 5/17/2001
324. The Stolen Child 5/17/2001
325. The Three Beggars 12/31/2002
326. The Three Bushes 5/17/2001
327. The Three Hermits 5/17/2001
328. The Three Monuments 5/17/2001
329. The Tower 5/17/2001
330. The Travail Of Passion 5/17/2001
331. The Two Kings 5/17/2001
332. The Two Trees 5/17/2001
333. The Unappeasable Host 5/17/2001
334. The Valley Of The Black Pig 1/3/2003
335. The Valleys Of The Black Pig 5/17/2001
336. The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book I 1/3/2003
337. The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book Ii 1/3/2003
338. The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book Iii 1/3/2003
339. The Wheel 5/17/2001
340. The White Birds 5/17/2001
341. The Wild Old Wicked Man 5/17/2001
342. The Wild Swans At Coole 5/17/2001
343. The Winding Stair 1/1/2004
344. The Winding Stair And Other Poems 5/17/2001
345. The Witch 5/17/2001
346. The Withering Of The Boughs 5/17/2001
347. These Are The Clouds 5/17/2001
348. Those Dancing Days Are Gone 1/13/2003
349. Those Images 5/17/2001
350. Three Marching Songs 5/17/2001
351. Three Movements 5/17/2001
352. Three Songs To The One Burden 5/17/2001
353. Three Songs To The Same Tune 5/17/2001
354. Three Things 1/13/2003
355. To A Child Dancing In The Wind 5/17/2001
356. To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing 5/17/2001
357. To A Poet, Who Would Have Me Praise Certain Bad Poets, Imitators Of His And Mine 5/17/2001
358. To A Shade 5/17/2001
359. To A Squirrel At Kyle-Na-No 1/13/2003
360. To A Wealthy Man Who Promised A Second Subscription To The Dublin Municipal Gallery If It Were 1/1/2004
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

Her Anxiety

Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.

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