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

The Spirit Medium

The Spirit Medium

POETRY, music, I have loved, and yet
Because of those new dead
That come into my soul and escape
Confusion of the bed,
Or those begotten or unbegotten
Perning in a band,


I bend my body to the spade
Or grope with a dirty hand.


Or those begotten or unbegotten,
For I would not recall
Some that being unbegotten
Are not individual,
But copy some one action,
Moulding it of dust or sand,


I bend my body to the spade
Or grope with a dirty hand.


An old ghost's thoughts are lightning,
To follow is to die;
Poetry and music I have banished,
But the stupidity
Of root, shoot, blossom or clay
Makes no demand.


I bend my body to the spade
Or grope with a dirty hand.
347

The Song Of Wandering Aengus

The Song Of Wandering Aengus

I WENT out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire aflame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And some one called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lads and hilly lands.
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
426

The Song Of The Happy Shepherd

The Song Of The Happy Shepherd

THE woods of Arcady are dead,
And over is their antique joy;
Of old the world on dreaming fed;
Grey Truth is now her painted toy;
Yet still she turns her restless head:
But O, sick children of the world,
Of all the many changing things
In dreary dancing past us whirled,
To the cracked tune that Chronos sings,
Words alone are certain good.
Where are now the warring kings,
Word be-mockers? -- By the Rood,
Where are now the watring kings?
An idle word is now their glory,
By the stammering schoolboy said,
Reading some entangled story:
The kings of the old time are dead;
The wandering earth herself may be
Only a sudden flaming word,
In clanging space a moment heard,
Troubling the endless reverie.
Then nowise worship dusty deeds,
Nor seek, for this is also sooth,
To hunger fiercely after truth,
Lest all thy toiling only breeds
New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth
Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then,
No learning from the starry men,
Who follow with the optic glass
The whirling ways of stars that pass --
Seek, then, for this is also sooth,
No word of theirs -- the cold star-bane
Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain,
And dead is all their human truth.
Go gather by the humming sea
Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell.
And to its lips thy story tell,
And they thy comforters will be.
Rewording in melodious guile
Thy fretful words a little while,
Till they shall singing fade in ruth
And die a pearly brotherhood;
For words alone are certain good:
Sing, then, for this is also sooth.
I must be gone: there is a grave
Where daffodil and lily wave,
And I would please the hapless faun,
Buried under the sleepy ground,
With mirthful songs before the dawn.
His shouting days with mirth were crowned;
And still I dream he treads the lawn,
Walking ghostly in the dew,



Pierced by my glad singing through,
My songs of old earth's dreamy youth:
But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou!
For fair are poppies on the brow:
Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
495

The Shadowy Waters: The Harp of Aengus

The Shadowy Waters: The Harp of Aengus

Edain came out of Midhir's hill, and lay
Beside young Aengus in his tower of glass,
Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs,
And sleepy boughs, and boughs where apples made
Of opal and ruhy and pale chrysolite
Awake unsleeping fires; and wove seven strings,
Sweet with all music, out of his long hair,
Because her hands had been made wild by love.
When Midhir's wife had changed her to a fly,
He made a harp with Druid apple-wood
That she among her winds might know he wept;
And from that hour he has watched over none
But faithful lovers.
452

The Shadowy Waters

The Shadowy Waters

I walked among the seven woods of Coole:
Shan-walla, where a willow-hordered pond
Gathers the wild duck from the winter dawn;
Shady Kyle-dortha; sunnier Kyle-na-no,
Where many hundred squirrels are as happy
As though they had been hidden hy green houghs
Where old age cannot find them; Paire-na-lee,
Where hazel and ash and privet hlind the paths:
Dim Pairc-na-carraig, where the wild bees fling
Their sudden fragrances on the green air;
Dim Pairc-na-tarav, where enchanted eyes
Have seen immortal, mild, proud shadows walk;
Dim Inchy wood, that hides badger and fox
And marten-cat, and borders that old wood
Wise Buddy Early called the wicked wood:
Seven odours, seven murmurs, seven woods.
I had not eyes like those enchanted eyes,
Yet dreamed that beings happier than men
Moved round me in the shadows, and at night
My dreams were clown hy voices and by fires;
And the images I have woven in this story
Of Forgael and Dectora and the empty waters
Moved round me in the voices and the fires,
And more I may not write of, for they that cleave
The waters of sleep can make a chattering tongue
Heavy like stone, their wisdom being half silence.
How shall I name you, immortal, mild, proud shadows?
I only know that all we know comes from you,
And that you come from Eden on flying feet.
Is Eden far away, or do you hide
From human thought, as hares and mice and coneys
That run before the reaping-hook and lie
In the last ridge of the barley? Do our woods


And winds and ponds cover more quiet woods,
More shining winds, more star-glimmering ponds?
Is Eden out of time and out of space?
And do you gather about us when pale light
Shining on water and fallen among leaves,
And winds blowing from flowers, and whirr of feathers
And the green quiet, have uplifted the heart?
I have made this poem for you, that men may read it
Before they read of Forgael and Dectora,
As men in the old times, before the harps began,
Poured out wine for the high invisible ones.
469

The Scholars

The Scholars

BALD heads forgetful of their sins,
Old, learned, respectable bald heads
Edit and annotate the lines
That young men, tossing on their beds,
Rhymed out in love's despair
To flatter beauty's ignorant ear.
All shuffle there; all cough in ink;
All wear the carpet with their shoes;
All think what other people think;
All know the man their neighbour knows.
Lord, what would they say
Did their Catullus walk that way?
400

The Secret Rose

The Secret Rose

FAR-OFF, most secret, and inviolate Rose,
Enfold me in my hour of hours; where those
Who sought thee in the Holy Sepulchre,
Or in the wine-vat, dwell beyond the stir
And tumult of defeated dreams; and deep
Among pale eyelids, heavy with the sleep
Men have named beauty. Thy great leaves enfold
The ancient beards, the helms of ruby and gold
Of the crowned Magi; and the king whose eyes
Saw the pierced Hands and Rood of elder rise
In Druid vapour and make the torches dim;
Till vain frenzy awoke and he died; and him
Who met Fand walking among flaming dew
By a grey shore where the wind never blew,
And lost the world and Emer for a kiss;
And him who drove the gods out of their liss,
And till a hundred moms had flowered red
Feasted, and wept the barrows of his dead;
And the proud dreaming king who flung the crown
And sorrow away, and calling bard and clown
Dwelt among wine-stained wanderers in deep woods:
And him who sold tillage, and house, and goods,
And sought through lands and islands numberless years,
Until he found, with laughter and with tears,
A woman of so shining loveliness
That men threshed corn at midnight by a tress,
A little stolen tress. I, too, await
The hour of thy great wind of love and hate.
When shall the stars be blown about the sky,
Like the sparks blown out of a smithy, and die?
Surely thine hour has come, thy great wind blows,
Far-off, most secret, and inviolate Rose?
378

The Rose Of The World

The Rose Of The World

WHO dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?
For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,
Mournful that no new wonder may betide,
Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,
And Usna's children died.
We and the labouring world are passing by:
Amid men's souls, that waver and give place
Like the pale waters in their wintry race,
Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,
Lives on this lonely face.
Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:
Before you were, or any hearts to beat,
Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;
He made the world to be a grassy road
Before her wandering feet.
375

The Sad Shepherd

The Sad Shepherd

THERE was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend,
And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming,
Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming
And humming Sands, where windy surges wend:
And he called loudly to the stars to bend
From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they
Among themselves laugh on and sing alway:
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story.!
The sea Swept on and cried her old cry still,
Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill.
He fled the persecution of her glory
And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping,
Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening.
But naught they heard, for they are always listening,
The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping.
And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend
Sought once again the shore, and found a shell,
And thought, I will my heavy story tell
Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send
Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart;
And my own talc again for me shall sing,
And my own whispering words be comforting,
And lo! my ancient burden may depart.
Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim;
But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone
Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan
Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him.
400

The Results Of Thought

The Results Of Thought

ACQUAINTANCE; companion;
One dear brilliant woman;
The best-endowed, the elect,
All by their youth undone,
All, all, by that inhuman
Bitter glory wrecked.
But I have straightened out
Ruin, wreck and wrack;
I toiled long years and at length
Came to so deep a thought
I can summon back
All their wholesome strength.
What images are these
That turn dull-eyed away,
Or Shift Time's filthy load,
Straighten aged knees,
Hesitate or stay?
What heads shake or nod?
335

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