Sleep on! Sleep on! beguiling The hours with happy rest. Sleep! - by that dreamy smiling, I know that thou art blest. Thy mother over thee hath leant To guard thee from annoy,...
Oh, 'tis a touching thing, to make one weep, - A tender infant with its curtain'd eye, Breathing as it would neither live nor die With that unchanging countenance of sleep!...
Thine eyelids slept so beauteously, I deem'd No eyes could wake so beautiful as they: Thy rosy cheeks in such still slumbers lay, I loved their peacefulness, nor ever dream'd...
Lone Flower, hemmed in with snows and white as they But hardier far, once more I see thee bend Thy forehead, as if fearful to offend, Like an unbidden guest. Though day by day,...
'Tis years, soubrette, since last we met; And yet--ah, yet, how swift and tender My thoughts go back in time's dull track To you, sweet pink of female gender! I shall not say--though others may--...
Is this thy voice whose treble notes of fear Wail in the wind? And dost thou shake to hear, Act'on-like, the bay of thine own hounds, Spurning the leash, and leaping o'er their bounds?...
Come play with me; Why should you run Through the shaking tree As though I'd a gun To strike you dead? When all I would do Is to scratch your head And let you go.
Dreary and dismal and dark Is the night of life to me, With nothing but clouds in the heaven above, Cruelly hiding the star that I love, Whose radiance was rapture to see. ...
Sweet star, which gleaming o'er the darksome scene Through fleecy clouds of silvery radiance fliest, Spanglet of light on evening's shadowy veil, Which shrouds the day-beam from the waveless lake,...
Thou little star, that in the purple clouds Hang'st, like a dew-drop, in a violet bed; First gem of evening, glittering on the shrouds, 'Mid whose dark folds the day lies pale and dead:...
Passing stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you, You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,) I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,...
And after all the labour and the pains, After the heaping up of gold on gold, After success that locked your feet in chains, And left you with a heart so tired and old,...
Belated wanderer of the ways of spring, Lost in the chill of grim November rain, Would I could read the message that you bring And find in it the antidote for pain. ...
I, The poet William Yeats, With old mill boards and sea-green slates, And smithy work from the Gort forge, Restored this tower for my wife George; And may these characters remain...
When midnight came to close the year, We sighed to think it thus should take The hours it gave us--hours as dear As sympathy and love could make Their blessed moments,--every sun...
Oh, that the golden lyre divine Whence David smote flame-tones were mine! Oh, that the silent harp which hung Untuned, unstrung, Upon the willows by the river, Would throb beneath my touch and quiver...