The Moods
TIME drops in decay, / Like a candle burnt out,
The Fish
❦
ALTHOUGH you hide in the ebb and flow
Of the pale tide when the moon has set,
The people of coming days will know
About the casting out of my net,
And how you have leaped times out of mind
Over the little silver cords,
And think that you were hard and unkind,
And blame you with many bitter words.
More poems by William Butler Yeats
Are You Content?
I CALL on those that call me son, / Grandson, or great-grandson,
The Folly Of Being Comforted
ONE that is ever kind said yesterday: / 'Your well-beloved's hair has threads of grey,
The Sad Shepherd
THERE was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend, / And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,