Nothing but stillness can remain when hearts are full Of their own sweetness, bodies of their loveliness.
William Butler YeatsAll that we did, all that we said or sang must come from contact with the soil.
William Butler YeatsAn aged man is but a paltry thing, a tattered coat upon a stick, unless soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing for every tatter in its mortal dress.
William Butler YeatsAll the wild-witches, those most notable ladies For all their broom-sticks and their tears, Their angry tears, are gone.
William Butler YeatsI will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.
William Butler Yeats