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The Collected Poems

 
dc.contributor Oxford Text Archive
dc.contributor.author William Butler Yeats
dc.coverage.placeName New York, NY
dc.date.accessioned 2018-06-14
dc.date.accessioned 2019-07-04T10:30:43Z
dc.date.available 2019-07-04T10:30:43Z
dc.date.created 1903
dc.identifier ota:3019
dc.identifier.citation http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/3019
dc.identifier.uri http://hdl.handle.net/20.500.12024/3019
dc.description.abstract Resource deposited with the Oxford Text Archive.
dc.format.medium Digital bitstream
dc.format.mimetype text/xml
dc.language English
dc.language.iso eng
dc.publisher University of Oxford
dc.relation.ispartof Oxford Text Archive Core Collection
dc.relation.replaces http://purl.ox.ac.uk/ota/1660
dc.rights Distributed by the University of Oxford under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License
dc.rights.uri http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/
dc.rights.label PUB
dc.subject.lcsh Irish poetry -- 20th century
dc.subject.other Poems
dc.title The Collected Poems
dc.type Text
has.files yes
branding Oxford Text Archive
files.size 3718573
files.count 5
otaterms.date.range 1900-1999

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CROSS WAYS THE SONG OF THE HAPPY SHEPHERD THE woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Grey Truth is now her painted toy; Yet still she turns her restless head: But O, sick children of the world, Of all the many changing things In dreary dancing past us whirled, To the cracked tune that Chronos sings, Words alone are certain good. Where are now the warring kings, Word be-mockers? — By the Rood, Where are now the watring kings? An idle word is now their glory, By the stammering schoolboy said, Reading some entangled story: The kings of the old time are dead; The wandering earth herself may be Only a sudden flaming word, In clanging space a moment heard, Troubling the endless reverie. Then nowise worship dusty deeds, Nor seek, for this is also sooth, To hunger fiercely after truth, Lest all thy toiling only breeds New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then, No learning from the starry men, Who follow w . . .
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