The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

woven silence, or but came to cast

      A song into the air, and singing past

      To smile on the pale dawn; and gather you

      Who have sought more than is in rain or dew

      Or in the sun and moon, or on the earth,

      Or sighs amid the wandering, starry mirth,

      Or comes in laughter from the sea’s sad lips;

      And wage God’s battles in the long gray ships.

      The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,

      To these Old Night shall all her mystery tell;

      God’s bell has claimed them by the little cry

      Of their sad hearts, that may not live nor die.

      Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!

      You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurled

      Upon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ring

      The bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.

      Beauty grown sad with its eternity

      Made you of us, and of the dim gray sea.

      Our long ships loose thought-woven sails and wait,

      For God has bid them share an equal fate;

      And when at last defeated in His wars,

      They have gone down under the same white stars,

      We shall no longer hear the little cry

      Of our sad hearts, that may not live nor die.

A FAERY SONG

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      Sung by the people of faery over Diarmuid and Grania, who lay in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.

      We who are old, old and gay,

      O so old!

      Thousands of years, thousands of years,

      If all were told:

      Give to these children, new from the world,

      Silence and love;

      And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,

      And the stars above:

      Give to these children, new from the world,

      Rest far from men.

      Is anything better, anything better?

      Tell us it then:

      Us who are old, old and gay,

      O so old!

      Thousands of years, thousands of years,

      If all were told.

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE

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      I 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.

      I will arise and go now, for always night and day

      I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;

      While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,

      I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

A CRADLE SONG

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      The angels are stooping

      Above your bed;

      They weary of trooping

      With the whimpering dead.

      God’s laughing in heaven

      To see you so good;

      The shining Seven

      Are gay with His mood.

      I kiss you and kiss you,

      My pigeon, my own;

      Ah, how I shall miss you

      When you have grown.

THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER

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      I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow

      Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;

      And then I must scrub and bake and sweep

      Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;

      And the young lie long and dream in their bed

      Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,

      And their day goes over in idleness,

      And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:

      While I must work because I am old,

      And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

THE PITY OF LOVE

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      A pity beyond all telling

      Is hid in the heart of love:

      The folk who are buying and selling;

      The clouds on their journey above;

      The cold wet winds ever blowing;

      And the shadowy hazel grove

      Where mouse-gray waters are flowing

      Threaten the head that I love.

THE SORROW OF LOVE

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      The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,

      The full round moon and the star-laden sky,

      And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,

      Had hid away earth’s old and weary cry.

      And then you came with those red mournful lips,

      And with you came the whole of the world’s tears,

      And all the trouble of her labouring ships,

      And all the trouble of her myriad years.

      And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,

      The curd-pale moon,