United States or Sweden ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Lady Isobel was seen everywhere with a fawn coloured collie at a time when every one else kept nothing but Pekinese, and she had once eaten four green apples at an afternoon tea in the Botanical Gardens, so she was widely credited with a rather unpleasant wit. The censorious said she slept in a hammock and understood Yeats's poems, but her family denied both stories.
his observation of the world about him is but proved the more conclusively. The trees in autumn are leopard-coloured, though a poet cannot say so without becoming dangerously ornamental. What I have written so far, however, might convey the impression that in Mr. Yeats's poetry we have a child's rather than a man's vision at work.
Yeats's contemplative genius presents bloodless battles, symbolic of life's continued fight, and accentuates the eternal hope and peace in the land of immortal youth. Among his shorter narrative poems, which show some of the power of The Wanderings of Oisin, are The Death of Cuchulain, The Old Age of Queen Maeve, and Baile and Aillinn.
a glimmering girl With apple blossom in her hair, Who called me by my name and ran And faded through the brightening air. What a sense of long pursuit, of a life's quest, we get in the exquisite last verse a verse which must be among the best-known of Mr. Yeats's writings after The Lake Isle of Innisfree and Had I the Heaven's Embroidered Cloths:
"And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings." Yeats's verse has been called "dream-drenched poems." The term is admirably descriptive of his romantic, lyrical verse. George W. Russell.
It is to this descent that the lines in William Butler Yeats's "To Ireland in Coming Times" allude: Know that I would accounted be True brother of that company, Who sang to sweeten Ireland's wrong, Ballad and story, rann and song.
The sleek motor-cars whisked by in an incessant line; the traffic policemen nodded familiarly to hansom-drivers; pools on the asphalt mirrored the delicate sky, and at every corner the breeze tasted of spring. Carl bought for her Yeats's poems, tucked it under his arm, and they trotted off.
It is as if the passion in his verse were again and again entangled in the devices of art. If we take his love-poems as a whole, however, the passion in them is at once vehement and beautiful. The world has not yet sufficiently realized how deep is the passion that has given shape to Mr. Yeats's verse. The Wind Among the Reeds is a book of love-poetry quite unlike all other books of love-poetry.
I remember a riotous argument about Bacon and Shakespeare in which I offered quite at random to show that Lord Rosebery had written the works of Mr. W. B. Yeats. No sooner had I said the words than a torrent of coincidences rushed upon my mind. I pointed out, for instance, that Mr. Yeats's chief work was "The Secret Rose."
Yeats's Gleeman, 'the whole Middle Ages under his frieze coat. The longer and more intimately we know these peasants, the more we realise how much in imagination, or in the clouds, if you will, they live.
Word Of The Day