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THE COLLECTED WORKS OF WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS




[Illustration: John S. Sargent

1908

_Emery Tucker, Ph sc_

_From a charcoal drawing by John S. Sargent R. A. _]




POEMS LYRICAL AND NARRATIVE
BEING THE FIRST VOLUME OF THE
=COLLECTED WORKS IN VERSE AND
PROSE OF WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS=
IMPRINTED AT THE SHAKESPEARE
HEAD PRESS STRATFORD-ON-AVON
MCMVIII




CONTENTS


PAGE
THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS:
THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE 3
THE EVERLASTING VOICES 4
THE MOODS 4
THE LOVER TELLS OF THE ROSE IN HIS HEART 5
THE HOST OF THE AIR 6
THE FISHERMAN 8
A CRADLE SONG 9
INTO THE TWILIGHT 10
THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS 11
THE HEART OF THE WOMAN 13
THE LOVER MOURNS FOR THE LOSS OF LOVE 14
HE MOURNS FOR THE CHANGE THAT HAS COME UPON HIM AND HIS
BELOVED AND LONGS FOR THE END OF THE WORLD 15
HE BIDS HIS BELOVED BE AT PEACE 17
HE REPROVES THE CURLEW 18
HE REMEMBERS FORGOTTEN BEAUTY 19
A POET TO HIS BELOVED 20
HE GIVES HIS BELOVED CERTAIN RHYMES 20
TO MY HEART, BIDDING IT HAVE NO FEAR 21
THE CAP AND BELLS 22
THE VALLEY OF THE BLACK PIG 24
THE LOVER ASKS FORGIVENESS BECAUSE OF HIS MANY MOODS 25
HE TELLS OF A VALLEY FULL OF LOVERS 27
HE TELLS OF THE PERFECT BEAUTY 28
HE HEARS THE CRY OF THE SEDGE 28
HE THINKS OF THOSE WHO HAVE SPOKEN EVIL OF HIS BELOVED 29
THE BLESSED 30
THE SECRET ROSE 32
MAID QUIET 33
THE TRAVAIL OF PASSION 34
THE LOVER PLEADS WITH HIS FRIEND FOR OLD FRIENDS 35
A LOVER SPEAKS TO THE HEARERS OF HIS SONGS IN COMING DAYS 36
THE POET PLEADS WITH THE ELEMENTAL POWERS 37
HE WISHES HIS BELOVED WERE DEAD 39
HE WISHES FOR THE CLOTHS OF HEAVEN 39
HE THINKS OF HIS PAST GREATNESS WHEN A PART OF THE
CONSTELLATIONS OF HEAVEN 40

THE OLD AGE OF QUEEN MAEVE 41

BAILE AND AILLINN 51

IN THE SEVEN WOODS:
IN THE SEVEN WOODS 63
THE ARROW 66
THE FOLLY OF BEING COMFORTED 67
OLD MEMORY 68
NEVER GIVE ALL THE HEART 69
THE WITHERING OF THE BOUGHS 70
ADAM'S CURSE 72
RED HANRAHAN'S SONG ABOUT IRELAND 74
THE OLD MEN ADMIRING THEMSELVES IN THE WATER 75
UNDER THE MOON 76
THE HOLLOW WOOD 78
O DO NOT LOVE TOO LONG 79
THE PLAYERS ASK FOR A BLESSING ON THE PSALTERIES AND
ON THEMSELVES 80
THE HAPPY TOWNLAND 82


EARLY POEMS.

BALLADS AND LYRICS:
TO SOME I HAVE TALKED WITH BY THE FIRE. A DEDICATION
TO A VOLUME OF EARLY POEMS 89
THE SONG OF THE HAPPY SHEPHERD 91
THE SAD SHEPHERD 94
THE CLOAK, THE BOAT, AND THE SHOES 96
ANASHUYA AND VIJAYA 97
THE INDIAN UPON GOD 103
THE INDIAN TO HIS LOVE 105
THE FALLING OF THE LEAVES 106
EPHEMERA 107
THE MADNESS OF KING GOLL 109
THE STOLEN CHILD 113
TO AN ISLE IN THE WATER 116
DOWN BY THE SALLEY GARDENS 117
THE MEDITATION OF THE OLD FISHERMAN 118
THE BALLAD OF FATHER O'HART 119
THE BALLAD OF MOLL MAGEE 121
THE BALLAD OF THE FOXHUNTER 124
THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN 127
THE LAMENTATION OF THE OLD PENSIONER 130
THE FIDDLER OF DOONEY 131
THE DEDICATION TO A BOOK OF STORIES SELECTED FROM THE
IRISH NOVELISTS 132

THE ROSE:
TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OF TIME 139
FERGUS AND THE DRUID 141
THE DEATH OF CUCHULAIN 144
THE ROSE OF THE WORLD 149
THE ROSE OF PEACE 150
THE ROSE OF BATTLE 151
A FAERY SONG 153
THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE 154
A CRADLE SONG 155
THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER 156
THE PITY OF LOVE 156
THE SORROW OF LOVE 157
WHEN YOU ARE OLD 158
THE WHITE BIRDS 159
A DREAM OF DEATH 161
A DREAM OF A BLESSED SPIRIT 162
THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAERYLAND 163
THE TWO TREES 165
TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES 167

THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN 169

NOTES 227




THE WIND AMONG THE REEDS


THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE

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

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

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

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

O'DRISCOLL drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and the tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.

And he saw how the reeds grew dark
At the coming of night tide,
And dreamed of the long dim hair
Of Bridget his bride.

He heard while he sang and dreamed
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.

And he saw young men and young girls
Who danced on a level place
And Bridget his bride among them,
With a sad and a gay face.

The dancers crowded about him,
And many a sweet thing said,
And a young man brought him red wine
And a young girl white bread.

But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,
Away from the merry bands,
To old men playing at cards
With a twinkling of ancient hands.

The bread and the wine had a doom,
For these were the host of the air;
He sat and played in a dream
Of her long dim hair.

He played with the merry old men
And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride
Away from the merry dance.

He bore her away in his arms,
The handsomest young man there,
And his neck and his breast and his arms
Were drowned in her long dim hair.

O'Driscoll scattered the cards
And out of his dream awoke:
Old men and young men and young girls
Were gone like a drifting smoke;

But he heard high up in the air
A piper piping away,
And never was piping so sad,
And never was piping so gay.


THE FISHERMAN

ALTHOUGH you hide in the ebb and flow
Of the pale tide when the moon has set,
The people of coming days will know
About the casting out of my net,
And how you have leaped times out of mind
Over the little silver cords,
And think that you were hard and unkind,
And blame you with many bitter words.


A CRADLE SONG

THE Danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,
And clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,
For they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,
With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold:
I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast,
And hear the narrow graves calling my child and me.
Desolate winds that cry over the wandering sea;
Desolate winds that hover in the flaming West;
Desolate winds that beat the doors of Heaven, and beat
The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost;
O heart the winds have shaken; the unappeasable host
Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary's feet.


INTO THE TWILIGHT

OUT-WORN heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the gray twilight,
Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn.

Your mother Eire is always young,
Dew ever shining and twilight gray;
Though hope fall from you and love decay,
Burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.