poet William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats

#31 on top 500 poets

Where My Books Go

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.

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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Comments about Where My Books Go by William Butler Yeats

  • me :) (2/16/2019 9:47:00 PM)

    does anybody know the type of poem it is?

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  • joseph (3/2/2018 9:21:00 AM)

    Once again his blood-dimmed tide is loosed.

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  • Upendra Upm (3/30/2017 1:56:00 AM)

    Mr Yeats was sad.Brilliantly expressed.

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  • Bill Wright (10/15/2016 5:14:00 AM)

    I love this, what a nice poem.

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  • Atasha WilliamsAtasha Williams (4/15/2016 9:53:00 AM)

    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,
    love this :)

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  • * Sunprincess * (4/5/2016 8:43:00 AM)

    ......so beautiful and speaks of real love★

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  • Fabrizio FrosiniFabrizio Frosini (2/23/2016 6:09:00 AM)

    in ITALIAN:

    ~*~

    Tutte le parole che pronuncio,
    tutte le parole che scrivo,
    devono aprire instancabili le ali,
    e non fermarsi mai nel loro volo,
    fino a raggiungere il tuo triste, triste cuore,
    e cantare per te nella notte,
    oltre il luogo ove muovono le acque,
    oscure di tempesta o lucenti di stelle.



    William Butler Yeats, Dove vanno i miei libri (1892)

    ~*~

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  • Fabrizio FrosiniFabrizio 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 ]

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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.

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