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“How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
And loved your beauty with love false or true;
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
“Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
“Hearts are not had as a gift but hearts are earned
By those who are not entirely beautiful.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
By those who are not entirely beautiful.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
“We have fallen in the dreams the ever-living
Breathe on the tarnished mirror of the world,
And then smooth out with ivory hands and sigh.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
Breathe on the tarnished mirror of the world,
And then smooth out with ivory hands and sigh.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
“Ephemera
Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning."
And then she:
"Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, Passion, falls asleep:
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair.
"Ah, do not mourn," he said,
"That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
Your eyes that once were never weary of mine
Are bowed in sorrow under pendulous lids,
Because our love is waning."
And then she:
"Although our love is waning, let us stand
By the lone border of the lake once more,
Together in that hour of gentleness
When the poor tired child, Passion, falls asleep:
How far away the stars seem, and how far
Is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart!"
Pensive they paced along the faded leaves,
While slowly he whose hand held hers replied:
"Passion has often worn our wandering hearts."
The woods were round them, and the yellow leaves
Fell like faint meteors in the gloom, and once
A rabbit old and lame limped down the path;
Autumn was over him: and now they stood
On the lone border of the lake once more:
Turning, he saw that she had thrust dead leaves
Gathered in silence, dewy as her eyes,
In bosom and hair.
"Ah, do not mourn," he said,
"That we are tired, for other loves await us;
Hate on and love through unrepining hours.
Before us lies eternity; our souls
Are love, and a continual farewell.”
― The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
Skye’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Skye’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
1,641 books
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109 friends
288 books
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68 friends
35 books
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7 friends
149 books
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53 friends
1 book
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36 friends
110 books
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30 friends
9 books
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49 friends
2 books
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27 friends
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