William Butler Yeats

The Ragged Wood
by William Butler Yeats

O, hurry, where by water, among the trees,
The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,
When they have looked upon their images 
Would none had ever loved but you and I!

Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed
Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,
When the sun looked out of his golden hood? 
O, that none ever loved but you and I!

O hurry to the ragged wood, for there
I will drive all those lovers out and cry 
O, my share of the world, O, yellow hair!
No one has ever loved but you and I.

The Sorrow of Love
by William Butler Yeats

The quarrel of the sparrow 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 sorrows of her labouring ships,
And all the burden 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.

The Rose in the Deeps of his Heart
by William Butler Yeats

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.