William Butler Yeats

I have spread my dreams beneath your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.

Cast a cold Eye
On Life, on Death
Horseman, pass by

Beloved, gaze in thine own heart, The holy tree is growing there; From joy the holy branches start, And all the trembling flowers they bear.

Think like a wise man but communicate in the language of the people.

Nothing that we love overmuch Is ponderable to our touch.

Now I know That twenty centuries of stony sleep Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle, And what rough beast, its hour come round at last, Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

O chestnut tree, great rooted blossomer, Are you the leaf, the blossom or the bole? O body swayed to music, O brightening glance, How can we know the dancer from the dance.

Somewhere beyond the curtain Of distorting days Lives that lonely thing That shone before these eyes Targeted, trod like Spring.