The Old Men Admiring Themselves In The Water
I HEARD the old, old men say, / 'Everything alters,
The Wheel
❦
THROUGH winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come --
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.
More poems by William Butler Yeats
The Folly Of Being Comforted
ONE that is ever kind said yesterday: / 'Your well-beloved's hair has threads of grey,
Love Song
My love, we will go, we will go, I and you, / And away in the woods we will scatter the dew;
The Fish
ALTHOUGH you hide in the ebb and flow / Of the pale tide when the moon has set,