The van of wandering quiet ere you be too calm and old, Whom Brahma, touching with his finger, praises, for you hold He's off! A kiss for you,īecause you saved my rice. He ruffles with his bill the minnowed streams.Īh! there he snaps my rice. Yon tall one eyes my supper chase him away, Painting with shadow all the marble steps:Īged and wise, they seek their wonted perches Piercing the twilight with their murmuring barbs.Īnashuya. Rises, and showers abroad his fragrant arrows,
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The hour when Kama, full of sleepy laughter, Weary, with all his poppies gathered round him. The sun has laid his chin on the grey wood, To mighty Brahma, he who made you many as the sands,Īnd laid you on the gates of evening with his quiet hands. Sing, O you little stars! O sing and raise your rapturous carol The sad, sad thought has gone from me now wholly: Sigh, O you little stars! O sigh and shake your blue apparel! By mighty Brahma's ever-rustling robe,Īnashuya. With mingling hair, and play upon one lute. When we are dead, beyond the setting suns, Send peace on all the lands and flickering corn. Anashuya, the young priestess, kneeling Within the temple.Īnashuya. Around it a garden around that the forest. 'What do you build with sails for flight?'Ī little Indian temple in the Golden Age. Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart Īnd my own whispering words be comforting,Īmong her wildering whirls, forgetting him. Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send Sought once again the shore, and found a shell, The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping.Īnd then the man whom Sorrow named his friend Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill.Īnd, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping,Ĭried all his story to the dewdrops glistening.īut naught they heard, for they are always listening, The sea swept on and cried her old cry still, Went walking with slow steps along the gleamingĪnd humming sands, where windy surges wend:Īnd he called loudly to the stars to bendįrom their pale thrones and comfort him, but theyĪmong themselves laugh on and sing alway:ĪrdAnd then the man whom Sorrow named his friendĬried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story! There was a man whom Sorrow named his friend,Īnd he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming, His shouting days with mirth were crowned Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain, Yeats is the most comprehensive edition of one of the world's most beloved poets available in paperback. Revised and corrected, this edition includes Yeats's own notes on his poetry, complemented by explanatory notes from esteemed Yeats scholar Richard J. In observing the development of rich and recurring images and themes over the course of his body of work, we can trace the quest of this century's greatest poet to unite intellect and artistry in a single magnificent vision. Breathtaking in range, it encompasses the entire arc of his career, from luminous reworkings of ancient Irish myths and legends to passionate meditations on the demands and rewards of youth and old age, from exquisite, occasionally whimsical songs of love, nature, and art to somber and angry poems of life in a nation torn by war and uprising. Yeats includes all of the poems authorized by Yeats for inclusion in his standard canon. Yeats includes all of the poems authorized by Yeats for inclusion and encompasses the entire arc of his career: reworkings of ancient Irish myths and legends, meditations on youth and old age, whimsical songs of love, and somber poems of life in a nation torn by war and uprising. Breathtaking in range, The Collected Poems of W.
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