Quotes

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The sounding cataract
Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock,
The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood,
Their colours and their forms, were then to me
An appetite,—a feeling and a love,
That had no need of a remoter charm
By thoughts supplied, nor any interest
Unborrowed from the eye.

Lines completed a few miles above Tintern Abbey
And pluck till time and times are done
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun.

The Wind Among the Reeds, 1899, The Song of Wandering, Aengus
Come away, O human child! 
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand, 
For the world's more full of weeping
Than you can understand.

The Stolen Child
The brawling of a sparrow in the eaves
The brilliant moon and all the milky sky And all that famous harmony of leaves
Had blotted out man's image and his cry.

The Rose, 1893. The Sorrow of Love
Minnaloushe creeps through the grass
Alone, important and wise,
And lifts to the changing moon
His changing eyes.
The Wild Swans at Coole 1919. The Cat and the Moon

The Wild Swans at Coole 1919. The Cat and the Moon
Down the mountain walls
From where Pan's cavern is
Intolerable music falls.
Foul goat-head, brutal arm appear,
Belly, shoulder, bum,
Flash fishlike; nymphs and satyrs
Copulate in the foam.

Last Poems, 1936-1939, News for the Delphic Oracle
I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;�
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,�
I hear it in the deep heart's core.

The Lake Isle of Innisfree
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enameling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

The Tower, 1928. Sailing to Byzantium
I had still the ambition, formed in Sligo in my teens, of living in imitation of Thoreau on Innisfree, a little island in Lough Gill, and when walking through Fleet Street very homesick I heard a little tinkle of water and saw a fountain in a shop window which balanced a little ball upon its jet, and began to remember lake water. From the sudden remembrance came my poem Innisfree.


The Trembling of the Veil
It is not only vain, but wicked, in a legislator to frame laws in opposition to the laws of nature, and to arm them with the terrors of death. This is truly creating crimes in order to punish them.
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