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The Fiddler of Dooney Poem by William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet. This post features The Fiddler of Dooney Poem by William Butler Yeats.

The Fiddler of Dooney Poem by William Butler Yeats was written in 1899. Immortalised in the poem, Dooney Rock is a small hill overlooking Lough Gill in County Sligo. The rock is located just outside Sligo itself. The prestigious instrumental competition held in Sligo and known at the Fiddler of Dooney Competition is also named after the poem.

Yeats was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival and, along with Lady Gregory, Edward Martyn, and others, founded the Abbey Theatre, where he served as its chief during its early years. In 1923, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. The prize led to a significant increase in the sales of his books, as his publishers Macmillan sought to capitalise on the publicity. For the first time he had money, and he was able to repay not only his own debts, but those of his father.

The Fiddler of Dooney Poem by William Butler Yeats
The Fiddler of Dooney Poem by William Butler Yeats

The Fiddler of Dooney Poem

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney
Folk dance like a wave of the sea
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet
My brother in Moharabuiee

I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.

When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance:

And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With ‘Here is the fiddler of Dooney!’
And dance like a wave of the sea.

– William Butler Yeats

When you are old Poem by William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet. This post features When you are old Poem by William Butler Yeats.

In 1923, Yeats was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. The prize led to a significant increase in the sales of his books, as his publishers Macmillan sought to capitalize on the publicity. For the first time he had money, and he was able to repay not only his own debts, but those of his father.

Yeats is generally considered one of the few writers who completed their greatest works after being awarded the Nobel Prize; such works include The Tower (1928) and The Winding Stair and Other Poems (1929).

William Butler Yeats largely renounced the transcendental beliefs of his youth, though he remained preoccupied with physical and spiritual masks, as well as with cyclical theories of life. From 1900, Yeats’s poetry grew more physical and realistic. Yeats had a life-long interest in mysticism, spiritualism, occultism and astrology. He read extensively on the subjects throughout his life, became a member of the paranormal research organization “The Ghost Club” (in 1911) and was especially influenced by the writings of Emanuel Swedenborg.

When you are old Poem by William Butler Yeats
When you are old Poem by William Butler Yeats

When you are old Poem

When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

– William Butler Yeats

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Swift’s Epitaph Poem by William Butler Yeats

William Butler Yeats (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet. This post features Swift’s Epitaph Poem by William Butler Yeats.

Swift’s Epitaph Poem by William Butler Yeats is a translation of Jonathan Swift’s epitaph, which Swift wrote for himself in Latin. Yeats’ somewhat free translation appeared in his 1933 collection The Winding Stair and Other Poems.

William Butler Yeats was one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments, in his later years he served as an Irish Senator for two terms. Yeats was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival and, along with Lady Gregory, Edward Martyn, and others, founded the Abbey Theatre, where he served as its chief during its early years.

In 1923, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. The prize led to a significant increase in the sales of his books, as his publishers Macmillan sought to capitalise on the publicity. For the first time he had money, and he was able to repay not only his own debts, but those of his father.

Swift’s Epitaph Poem by William Butler Yeats
Swift’s Epitaph Poem by William Butler Yeats

Swift’s Epitaph Poem

Swift has sailed into his rest;
Savage indignation there
Cannot lacerate his breast.
Imitate him if you dare,
World-besotted traveller; he
Served human liberty.

– William Butler Yeats

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A Patch Of Old Snow Poem by Robert Frost

Robert Frost (March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963) was an American poet. This post features A Patch Of Old Snow Poem by Robert Frost.

Robert Frost’s work was initially published in England before it was published in America. He is highly regarded for his realistic depictions of rural life and his command of American colloquial speech. His work frequently employed settings from rural life in New England in the early twentieth century, using them to examine complex social and philosophical themes.

One of the most popular and critically respected American poets of the twentieth century, Frost was honored frequently during his lifetime, receiving four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He became one of America’s rare “public literary figures, almost an artistic institution.”

Although known for his later association with rural life, Frost grew up in the city, and he published his first poem in his high school’s magazine. He attended Dartmouth College for two months, long enough to be accepted into the Theta Delta Chi fraternity. Frost returned home to teach and to work at various jobs, including helping his mother teach her class of unruly boys, delivering newspapers, and working in a factory maintaining carbon arc lamps. He did not enjoy these jobs, feeling his true calling was poetry.

A Patch Of Old Snow Poem by Robert Frost
A Patch Of Old Snow Poem by Robert Frost

A Patch Of Old Snow Poem

There’s a patch of old snow in a corner
That I should have guessed
Was a blow-away paper the rain
Had brought to rest.

It is speckled with grime as if
Small print overspread it,
The news of a day I’ve forgotten —
If I ever read it.

– Robert Frost

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To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing Poem by W. B. Yeats

William Butler Yeats (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939) was an Irish poet. This post features To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing Poem by William Butler Yeats.

W. B. Yeats was one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments, in his later years he served as an Irish Senator for two terms. Yeats was a driving force behind the Irish Literary Revival and, along with Lady Gregory, Edward Martyn, and others, founded the Abbey Theatre, where he served as its chief during its early years. To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing Poem by William Butler Yeats is very inspirational.

In 1923, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. The prize led to a significant increase in the sales of his books, as his publishers Macmillan sought to capitalise on the publicity. For the first time he had money, and he was able to repay not only his own debts, but those of his father.

To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing Poem by W. B. Yeats
To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing Poem by W. B. Yeats

To A Friend Whose Work Has Come To Nothing Poem

Now all the truth is out,
Be secret and take defeat
From any brazen throat,
For how can you compete,
Being honour bred, with one
Who, were it proved he lies,
Were neither shamed in his own
Nor in his neighbours’ eyes?
Bred to a harder thing
Than Triumph, turn away
And like a laughing string
Whereon mad fingers play
Amid a place of stone,
Be secret and exult,
Because of all things known
That is most difficult.

– William Butler Yeats

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