William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats

1865–1939 · lived 73 years IE IE

William Butler Yeats was a prominent Irish poet, playwright, and mystic, widely regarded as one of the greatest poets of the 20th century. His early work was deeply influenced by Irish mythology and folklore, and he was a key figure in the Irish Literary Revival. Over his career, his style evolved, becoming more personal, symbolic, and philosophical, grappling with themes of love, aging, politics, and the spiritual life. Yeats's poetry is characterized by its rich imagery, musicality, and intellectual depth. He explored the complexities of the human condition, the nature of art, and the turbulent history of Ireland. His later works, in particular, are known for their aphoristic power and profound meditations on life and mortality. He received the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1923, solidifying his international literary stature.

n. 1865-06-13, Sandymount · m. 1939-01-28, Menton

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Youth And Age

Youth And Age

MUCH did I rage when young,
Being by the world oppressed,
But now with flattering tongue
It speeds the parting guest.
Read full poem
Bio

Identification and basic context

William Butler Yeats was an Irish poet, dramatist, and prose writer, and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. He was born in Sandymount, County Dublin, Ireland. He wrote in English.

Childhood and education

Yeats's childhood was divided between County Sligo, a rural area of great natural beauty that deeply influenced his imagination, and Dublin. His father was a barrister and painter, and his mother came from a prosperous merchant family in Sligo. He attended the Godolphin School in Hammersmith, London, and then the Metropolitan School of Art in Dublin. His early intellectual and artistic development was influenced by the Aesthetic and Decadent movements, and by his deep interest in Irish mythology, folklore, and the occult.

Literary trajectory

Yeats's literary career began in his early twenties with the publication of his first poems. He became a central figure in the Irish Literary Revival, aiming to create a distinctly Irish national literature. His early poetry, such as 'The Wanderings of Usheen' (1889), was romantic and myth-laden. Throughout his life, his style evolved, becoming more personal, philosophical, and symbolically complex. He was also a prolific playwright and a co-founder of the Abbey Theatre in Dublin. His later works, including 'The Tower' (1928) and 'The Winding Stair and Other Poems' (1933), are considered masterpieces of modernist poetry.

Works, style, and literary characteristics

Yeats's major works include 'The Wanderings of Usheen' (1889), 'The Countess Cathleen' (1892), 'The Wild Swans at Coole' (1919), 'The Tower' (1928), and 'Last Poems and Two Plays' (1936). His poetry is renowned for its rich symbolism, often drawn from Irish myth, ancient religions, and his own esoteric system (A Vision). Key themes include love (often unrequited or complex), death, time, aging, Irish nationalism, art, the conflict between the spiritual and the material, and the cyclical nature of history. His style transitioned from a pre-Raphaelite romanticism to a more compressed, intellectually rigorous, and sometimes violent modernist idiom. He experimented with various forms but also developed a distinctive, powerful free verse and rhyming couplets. His poetic voice ranges from the elegiac and lyrical to the prophetic and satirical.

Cultural and historical context

Yeats lived through a period of intense political and social upheaval in Ireland, including the struggle for Home Rule, the Easter Rising of 1916, and the Irish Civil War. He was deeply involved with Irish cultural nationalism, though his relationship with political factions was often complex and critical. He was associated with the Symbolist movement in poetry and was influenced by philosophers like Nietzsche and scholars of mysticism. His work reflects the tensions between the pagan past and the Christian present, the individual and the state, and the forces of tradition and modernity.

Personal life

Yeats's personal life was marked by his passionate, often unrequited, love for Maud Gonne, an Irish nationalist and activist, who inspired many of his most famous poems. He was also involved in occult societies and developed a complex personal mythology. He married Georgie Hyde-Lees late in life, and they had two children. His later years were spent between Ireland and England, and he served as a Senator of the Irish Free State from 1922 to 1928.

Recognition and reception

Yeats achieved significant international recognition during his lifetime and was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1923. He is considered one of the most important poets of the English language. His work has been widely translated and studied, and he is a central figure in the canon of modern literature.

Influences and legacy

Yeats was influenced by William Blake, Shelley, the Pre-Raphaelite poets, and various esoteric traditions. He, in turn, profoundly influenced subsequent generations of poets, both in Ireland and internationally, particularly in his development of modernist techniques and his engagement with complex themes. His emphasis on symbolism and his unique blend of personal and public concerns set a new standard for poetic expression.

Interpretation and critical analysis

Critical analyses of Yeats's work often focus on his evolving symbolism, his relationship with Irish history and myth, and the philosophical and esoteric dimensions of his poetry. Debates have arisen regarding his political stances and his complex attitudes towards Irish identity and modernity.

Curiosities and lesser-known aspects

Yeats was deeply involved in spiritualism and theosophy, developing his own intricate system of philosophy and history known as A Vision, which he published in prose form. He was also a proponent of eugenics, a controversial aspect of his thought.

Death and memory

Yeats died in Roquebrune-Cap-Martin, France, in 1939. His body was initially buried there but was later exhumed and reburied in Drumcliffe, County Sligo, Ireland, as per his wishes, beneath the shadow of Ben Bulben mountain.

Poems

201

Fergus And The Druid

Fergus And The Druid

Fergus. This whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape,
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.
Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
Fergus. This would I Say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, So I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.
Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
Fergus. A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head
Druid. What would you, Fergus?
Fergus. Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.
Druid. Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.
Fergus. A king is but a foolish labourer
Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.
Druid. Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
Fergus. I See my life go drifting like a river
From change to change; I have been many things --
A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold --
And all these things were wonderful and great;
But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.
Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!
422

Ephemera

Ephemera


'YOUR eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sotrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning.'
And then She:
'Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!'
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
'Passion has often worn our wandering hearts.'
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair.
'Ah, do not mourn,' he said,
'That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell.'
438

Fallen Majesty

Fallen Majesty

Although crowds gathered once if she but showed her face,
And even old men's eyes grew dim, this hand alone,
Like some last courtier at a gypsy camping-place
Babbling of fallen majesty, records what's gone.


The lineaments, a heart that laughter has made sweet,
These, these remain, but I record what's gone. A crowd
Will gather, and not know it walks the very street
Whereon a thing once walked that seemed a burning cloud.
326

Down By The Salley Gardens

Down By The Salley Gardens

DOWN by the salley gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
In a field by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
368

Easter, 1916

Easter, 1916

I have met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.


That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.


Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;



A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.


Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
639

Cuchulain Comforted

Cuchulain Comforted

A MAN that had six mortal wounds, a man
Violent and famous, strode among the dead;
Eyes stared out of the branches and were gone.


Then certain Shrouds that muttered head to head
Came and were gone. He leant upon a tree
As though to meditate on wounds and blood.


A Shroud that seemed to have authority
Among those bird-like things came, and let fall
A bundle of linen. Shrouds by two and thrce


Came creeping up because the man was still.
And thereupon that linen-carrier said:
'Your life can grow much sweeter if you will


'Obey our ancient rule and make a shroud;
Mainly because of what we only know
The rattle of those arms makes us afraid.


'We thread the needles' eyes, and all we do
All must together do.' That done, the man
Took up the nearest and began to sew.


'Now must we sing and sing the best we can,
But first you must be told our character:
Convicted cowards all, by kindred slain


'Or driven from home and left to dic in fear.'
They sang, but had nor human tunes nor words,
Though all was done in common as before;


They had changed their thtoats and had the throats of birds.
389

Death

Death


NOR dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again.
A great man in his pride
Confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon
Supersession of breath;
He knows death to the bone --
Man has created death.
305

Crazy Jane Reproved

Crazy Jane Reproved

I care not what the sailors say:
All those dreadful thunder-stones,
All that storm that blots the day
Can but show that Heaven yawns;
Great Europa played the fool
That changed a lover for a bull.
Fol de rol, fol de rol.


To round that shell's elaborate whorl,
Adorning every secret track
With the delicate mother-of-pearl,
Made the joints of Heaven crack:
So never hang your heart upon
A roaring, ranting journeyman.
Fol de rol, fol de rol.
381

Crazy Jane On The Day Of Judgment

Crazy Jane On The Day Of Judgment

'Love is all
Unsatisfied
That cannot take the whole
Body and soul';
And that is what Jane said.


'Take the sour
If you take me
I can scoff and lour
And scold for an hour.'
"That's certainly the case,' said he.


'Naked I lay,
The grass my bed;
Naked and hidden away,
That black day';
And that is what Jane said.


'What can be shown?
What true love be?
All could be known or shown
If Time were but gone.'
'That's certainly the case,' said he.
447

Crazy Jane And Jack The Journeyman

Crazy Jane And Jack The Journeyman

I know, although when looks meet
I tremble to the bone,
The more I leave the door unlatched
The sooner love is gone,
For love is but a skein unwound
Between the dark and dawn.


A lonely ghost the ghost is
That to God shall come;
I - love's skein upon the ground,
My body in the tomb -
Shall leap into the light lost
In my mother's womb.


But were I left to lie alone
In an empty bed,
The skein so bound us ghost to ghost
When he turned his head
passing on the road that night,
Mine must walk when dead.
441

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