W.B. Yeats citations

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W.B. Yeats

Date de naissance: 13. juin 1865
Date de décès: 28. janvier 1939

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William Butler Yeats , est un poète et dramaturge irlandais, né le 13 juin 1865 à Sandymount et mort le 28 janvier 1939 à Roquebrune Cap Martin,, en France. Fils du peintre John Butler Yeats, il est l'un des instigateurs du renouveau de la littérature irlandaise et cofondateur, avec Lady Gregory, de l'Abbey Theatre. Il a reçu le prix Nobel de littérature en 1923.

Ses premières œuvres aspiraient à une richesse romantique, ce que retrace son recueil publié en 1893 Crépuscule celtique, mais la quarantaine venant, inspiré par sa relation avec les poètes modernistes comme Ezra Pound et en lien avec son implication dans le nationalisme irlandais, il évolua vers un style moderne sans concession. Yeats fut aussi un sénateur de l'État libre d'Irlande pendant deux mandats.

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Citations W.B. Yeats

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„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.“

— W.B. Yeats, The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats
Context: p>Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries.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. </p The Stolen Child http://poetry.poetryx.com/poems/1695/, st. 1

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„I hear it in the deep heart's core.“

— W.B. Yeats
Context: I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear the 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. The Lake Isle of Innisfree, st. 3

„What matter that no cannon had been turned
Into a ploughshare?“

— W.B. Yeats
Context: All teeth were drawn, all ancient tricks unlearned, And a great army but a showy thing; What matter that no cannon had been turned Into a ploughshare? I, st. 3

„We are but critics, or but half create,
Timid, entangled, empty and abashed,
Lacking the countenance of our friends.“

— W.B. Yeats
Context: We have lit upon the gentle, sensitive mind And lost the old nonchalance of the hand; Whether we have chosen chisel, pen or brush, We are but critics, or but half create, Timid, entangled, empty and abashed, Lacking the countenance of our friends. Ego Dominus Tuus http://poetry.poetryx.com/poems/1478/, st. 4

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„Speech after long silence; it is right“

— W.B. Yeats
Context: Speech after long silence; it is right, All other lovers being estranged or dead, Unfriendly lamplight hid under its shade, The curtains drawn upon unfriendly night, That we descant and yet again descant Upon the supreme theme of Art and Song: Bodily decrepitude is wisdom; young We loved each other and were ignorant. After Long Silence http://poetry.poetryx.com/poems/1432/

„All that sternness amid charm,
All that sweetness amid strength?“

— W.B. Yeats
Context: Ah, that Time could touch a form That could show what Homer's age Bred to be a hero's wage. 'Were not all her life but a storm, Would not painters pain a form Of such noble lines,' I said, 'Such a delicate high head, All that sternness amid charm, All that sweetness amid strength? Ah, but peace that comes at length, Came when Time had touched her form. Peace http://poetry.poetryx.com/poems/1564/

„The shallowest people on the ridge of the earth.“

— W.B. Yeats
Context: I hate journalists. There is nothing in them but tittering jeering emptiness. They have all made what Dante calls the Great Refusal, — that is they have ceased to be self-centered, have given up their individuality.... The shallowest people on the ridge of the earth. Letter to Katharine Tynan (30 August 1888)

„Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematical of love and war?“

— W.B. Yeats
Context: My Soul. Why should the imagination of a man Long past his prime remember things that are Emblematical of love and war? Think of ancestral night that can, If but imagination scorn the earth And intellect is wandering To this and that and t'other thing, Deliver from the crime of death and birth. I, st. 3

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