The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

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      If all were told.

THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE

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      I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,

      And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made;

      Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,

      And live alone in the bee-loud glade.

      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.

      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 gray,

      I hear it in the deep heart’s core.

A CRADLE SONG

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      The angels are stooping

      Above your bed;

      They weary of trooping

      With the whimpering dead.

      God’s laughing in heaven

      To see you so good;

      The shining Seven

      Are gay with His mood.

      I kiss you and kiss you,

      My pigeon, my own;

      Ah, how I shall miss you

      When you have grown.

THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER

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      I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow

      Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;

      And then I must scrub and bake and sweep

      Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;

      And the young lie long and dream in their bed

      Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,

      And their day goes over in idleness,

      And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress:

      While I must work because I am old,

      And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.

THE PITY OF LOVE

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      A pity beyond all telling

      Is hid in the heart of love:

      The folk who are buying and selling;

      The clouds on their journey above;

      The cold wet winds ever blowing;

      And the shadowy hazel grove

      Where mouse-gray waters are flowing

      Threaten the head that I love.

THE SORROW OF LOVE

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      The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,

      The full round moon and the star-laden sky,

      And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,

      Had hid away earth’s old and weary cry.

      And then you came with those red mournful lips,

      And with you came the whole of the world’s tears,

      And all the trouble of her labouring ships,

      And all the trouble of her myriad years.

      And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,

      The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,

      And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,

      Are shaken with earth’s old and weary cry.

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

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      When you are old and gray and full of sleep,

      And nodding by the fire, take down this book,

      And slowly read, and dream of the soft look

      Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

      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.

      And bending down beside the glowing bars

      Murmur, a little sadly, how love fled

      And paced upon the mountains overhead

      And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

THE WHITE BIRDS

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