Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they bear. The changing colours of its fruit Have dowered the stars with metry light; The surety of its hidden root Has planted quiet in the night; The shaking of its leafy head Has given the waves their melody, And made my lips and music wed, Murmuring a wizard song for thee.
William Butler YeatsWhen I clamber to the heights of sleep, Or when I grow excited with wine, suddenly I meet your face.
William Butler YeatsHow far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.
William Butler YeatsWe poets would die of loneliness but for women, and we choose our men friends that we may have somebody to talk about women with. Letter to Olivia Shakespeare, 1936
William Butler Yeats