The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

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СКАЧАТЬ PITY OF LOVE

       THE SORROW OF LOVE

       WHEN YOU ARE OLD

       THE WHITE BIRDS

       A DREAM OF DEATH

       A DREAM OF A BLESSED SPIRIT

       THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND

       THE TWO TREES

       TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES

       EARLY POEMS III THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN

       BOOK I

       THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN

       BOOK II

       THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN

       BOOK III

       THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN

       NOTES

       THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS.

       EARLY POEMS

THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS

       Table of Contents

THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE

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      The host is riding from Knocknarea

      And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare;

      Caolte tossing his burning hair

      And Niamh calling Away, come away:

      Empty your heart of its mortal dream.

      The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,

      Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,

      Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam,

      Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;

      And if any gaze on our rushing band,

      We come between him and the deed of his hand,

      We come between him and the hope of his heart.

      The host is rushing ’twixt night and day,

      And where is there hope or deed as fair?

      Caolte tossing his burning hair,

      And Niamh calling Away, come away.

THE EVERLASTING VOICES

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      O sweet everlasting Voices, be still;

      Go to the guards of the heavenly fold

      And bid them wander obeying your will

      Flame under flame, till Time be no more;

      Have you not heard that our hearts are old,

      That you call in birds, in wind on the hill,

      In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore?

      O sweet everlasting Voices, be still.

THE MOODS

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      Time drops in decay,

      Like a candle burnt out,

      And the mountains and woods

      Have their day, have their day;

      What one in the rout

      Of the fire-born moods

      Has fallen away?

THE LOVER TELLS OF THE ROSE IN HIS HEART

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      All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old,

      The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart,

      The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould,

      Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

      The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told;

      I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart,

      With the earth and the sky and the water, remade, like a casket of gold

      For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

THE HOST OF THE AIR

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