Time poems
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The Ballad Of Father Gilligan
© William Butler Yeats
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day;
For half his flock were in their beds,
Or under green sods lay.
The White Birds
© William Butler Yeats
I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
Under Saturn
© William Butler Yeats
Do not because this day I have grown saturnine
Imagine that lost love, inseparable from my thought
Because I have no other youth, can make me pine;
For how should I forget the wisdom that you brought,
The Lamentation Of The Old Pensioner
© William Butler Yeats
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.
Peace
© William Butler Yeats
Ah, that Time could touch a form
That could show what Homer's age
Bred to be a hero's wage.
'Were not all her life but storm
A Poet To His Beloved
© William Butler Yeats
I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
In Memory Of Eva Gore-Booth And Con Markiewicz
© William Butler Yeats
The light of evening, Lissadell,
Great windows open to the south,
Two girls in silk kimonos, both
Beautiful, one a gazelle.
The Wanderings of Oisin: Book II
© William Butler Yeats
S. Patrick. Be still: the skies
Are choked with thunder, lightning, and fierce wind,
For God has heard, and speaks His angry mind;
Go cast your body on the stones and pray,
For He has wrought midnight and dawn and day.
The Coming Of Wisdom With Time
© William Butler Yeats
Though leaves are many, the root is one;
Through all the lying days of my youth
I swayed my leaves and flowers in the sun;
Now I may wither into the truth.
Politics
© William Butler Yeats
'In our time the destiny of man prevents its meanings
in political terms.' -- Thomas Mann.
How can I, that girl standing there,
My attention fix
The Lover Pleads With His Friend For Old Friends
© William Butler Yeats
Though you are in your shining days,
Voices among the crowd
And new friends busy with your praise,
Be not unkind or proud,
I Am Of Ireland
© William Butler Yeats
'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity,
Come dance with me in Ireland.'
Death
© William Butler Yeats
Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
September 1913
© William Butler Yeats
What need you, being come to sense,
But fumble in a greasy till
And add the halfpence to the pence
And prayer to shivering prayer, until
The Second Oldest Story
© Dorothy Parker
Go I must along my ways
Though my heart be ragged,
Dripping bitter through the days,
Festering, and jagged.
The Homebody
© Dorothy Parker
It may be, when the devil's own time is done,
That I shall hear the dropping of the rain
At midnight, and lie quiet in my bed;
Or stretch and straighten to the yellow sun;
Or face the turning tree, and have no pain;
So shall I learn at last my heart is dead.
The False Friends
© Dorothy Parker
They laid their hands upon my head,
They stroked my cheek and brow;
And time could heal a hurt, they said,
And time could dim a vow.
Renunciation
© Dorothy Parker
Chloe's hair, no doubt, was brighter;
Lydia's mouth more sweetly sad;
Hebe's arms were rather whiter;
Languorous-lidded Helen had
From A Letter From Lesbia
© Dorothy Parker
... So, praise the gods, Catullus is away!
And let me tend you this advice, my dear:
Take any lover that you will, or may,
Except a poet. All of them are queer.
Epitaph
© Dorothy Parker
The first time I died, I walked my ways;
I followed the file of limping days.I held me tall, with my head flung up,
But I dared not look on the new moon's cup.I dared not look on the sweet young rain,
And between my ribs was a gleaming pain.The next time I died, they laid me deep.
