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 Mother Of God

The Mother Of God

THE threefold terror of love; a fallen flare
Through the hollow of an ear;
Wings beating about the room;
The terror of all terrors that I bore
The Heavens in my womb.
Had I not found content among the shows
Every common woman knows,
Chimney corner, garden walk,
Or rocky cistern where we tread the clothes
And gather all the talk?
What is this flesh I purchased with my pains,
This fallen star my milk sustains,
This love that makes my heart's blood stop
Or strikes a Sudden chill into my bones
And bids my hair stand up?
304

The Magi

The Magi

NOW as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of Silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.
451

The Man Who Dreamed Of Faeryland

The Man Who Dreamed Of Faeryland

HE stood among a crowd at Dromahair;
His heart hung all upon a silken dress,
And he had known at last some tenderness,
Before earth took him to her stony care;
But when a man poured fish into a pile,
It Seemed they raised their little silver heads,
And sang what gold morning or evening sheds
Upon a woven world-forgotten isle
Where people love beside the ravelled seas;
That Time can never mar a lover's vows
Under that woven changeless roof of boughs:
The singing shook him out of his new ease.
He wandered by the sands of Lissadell;
His mind ran all on money cares and fears,
And he had known at last some prudent years
Before they heaped his grave under the hill;
But while he passed before a plashy place,
A lug-worm with its grey and muddy mouth
Sang that somewhere to north or west or south
There dwelt a gay, exulting, gentle race
Under the golden or the silver skies;
That if a dancer stayed his hungry foot
It seemed the sun and moon were in the fruit:
And at that singing he was no more wise.
He mused beside the well of Scanavin,
He mused upon his mockers: without fail
His sudden vengeance were a country tale,
When earthy night had drunk his body in;
But one small knot-grass growing by the pool
Sang where -- unnecessary cruel voice --
Old silence bids its chosen race rejoice,
Whatever ravelled waters rise and fall
Or stormy silver fret the gold of day,
And midnight there enfold them like a fleece
And lover there by lover be at peace.
The tale drove his fine angry mood away.
He slept under the hill of Lugnagall;
And might have known at last unhaunted sleep
Under that cold and vapour-turbaned steep,
Now that the earth had taken man and all:
Did not the worms that spired about his bones
proclaim with that unwearied, reedy cry
That God has laid His fingers on the sky,
That from those fingers glittering summer runs
Upon the dancer by the dreamless wave.
Why should those lovers that no lovers miss
Dream, until God burn Nature with a kiss?
The man has found no comfort in the grave.
377

The Lover Speaks To The Hearers Of His Songs In Coming Days

The Lover Speaks To The Hearers Of His Songs In Coming Days

O WOMEN, kneeling by your altar-rails long hence,
When songs I wove for my beloved hide the prayer,
And smoke from this dead heart drifts through the violet air
And covers away the smoke of myrrh and frankincense;
Bend down and pray for all that sin I wove in song,
Till the Attorney for Lost Souls cry her sweet cry,
And.call to my beloved and me: 'No longer fly
Amid the hovering, piteouS, penitential throng.'
402

The Lover's Song

The Lover's Song

BIRD sighs for the air,
Thought for I know not where,
For the womb the seed sighs.
Now sinks the same rest
On mind, on nest,
On straining thighs.
280

The Lover Mourns For The Loss Of Love

The Lover Mourns For The Loss Of Love

PALE brows, still hands and dim hair,
I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end:
She looked in my heart one day
And saw your image was there;
She has gone weeping away.
432

The Living Beauty

The Living Beauty

I BADE, because the wick and oil are spent
And frozen are the channels of the blood,
My discontented heart to draw content
From beauty that is cast out of a mould
In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears,
Appears, but when wc have gone is gone again,
Being more indifferent to our solitude
Than 'twere an apparition. O heart, we are old;
The living beauty is for younger men:
We cannot pay its rribute of wild tears.
294

The Lady's Third Song

The Lady's Third Song

WHEN you and my true lover meet
And he plays tunes between your feet.
Speak no evil of the soul,
Nor think that body is the whole,
For I that am his daylight lady
Know worse evil of the body;
But in honour split his love
Till either neither have enough,
That I may hear if we should kiss
A contrapuntal serpent hiss,
You, should hand explore a thigh,
All the labouring heavens sigh.
369

The Lamentation Of The Old Pensioner

The Lamentation Of The Old Pensioner

ALTHOUGH I shelter from the rain
Under a broken tree,
My chair was nearest to the fire
In every company
That talked of love or politics,
Ere Time transfigured me.
Though lads are making pikes again
For some conspiracy,
And crazy rascals rage their fill
At human tyranny,
My contemplations are of Time
That has transfigured me.
There's not a woman turns her face
Upon a broken tree,
And yet the beauties that I loved
Are in my memory;
I spit into the face of Time
That has transfigured me.
432

The Indian To His Love

The Indian To His Love

THE island dreams under the dawn
And great boughs drop tranquillity;
The peahens dance on a smooth lawn,
A parrot sways upon a tree,
Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.
Here we will moor our lonely ship
And wander ever with woven hands,
Murmuring softly lip to lip,
Along the grass, along the sands,
Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:
How we alone of mortals are
Hid under quiet boughs apart,
While our love grows an Indian star,
A meteor of the burning heart,
One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam
and dart,
The heavy boughs, the burnished dove
That moans and sighs a hundred days:
How when we die our shades will rove,
When eve has hushed the feathered ways,
With vapoury footsole by the water's drowsy blaze.
369

Quotes

40

Videos

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