William Butler Yeats

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

The Wheel

Poem by William Butler Yeats

THROUGH winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come --
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.

Comments about The Wheel by William Butler Yeats

  • Indira RenganathanIndira Renganathan (11/30/2016 8:46:00 AM)

    seasons come and go in a wheel but at one stage as we age old there is no spring coming for us and
    what disturbs our blood
    Is but its longing for the tomb.......beautiful poem with a message(Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
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Read poems about / on: spring, winter, summer, time

Poem Submitted: Thursday, May 17, 2001

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