Easter, 1916 a Poem By William Butler Yeats

Easter, 1916

Written By William Butler Yeats

I have met them at close of day

Coming with vivid faces

From counter or desk among grey

Eighteenth-century houses.

I have passed with a nod of the head

Or polite meaningless words,

Or have lingered awhile and said

Polite meaningless words,

And thought before I had done

Of a mocking tale or a gibe

To please a companion

Around the fire at the club,

Being certain that they and I

But lived where motley is worn:

All changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

That woman’s days were spent

In ignorant good-will,

Her nights in argument

Until her voice grew shrill.

What voice more sweet than hers

When, young and beautiful,

She rode to harriers?

This man had kept a school

And rode our wingèd horse;

This other his helper and friend

Was coming into his force;

He might have won fame in the end,

So sensitive his nature seemed,

So daring and sweet his thought.

This other man I had dreamed

A drunken, vainglorious lout.

He had done most bitter wrong

To some who are near my heart,

Yet I number him in the song;

He, too, has resigned his part

In the casual comedy;

He, too, has been changed in his turn,

Transformed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone

Through summer and winter seem

Enchanted to a stone

To trouble the living stream.

The horse that comes from the road,

The rider, the birds that range

From cloud to tumbling cloud,

Minute by minute they change;

A shadow of cloud on the stream

Changes minute by minute;

A horse-hoof slides on the brim,

And a horse plashes within it;

The long-legged moor-hens dive,

And hens to moor-cocks call;

Minute by minute they live:

The stone’s in the midst of all.

Read Also: Summary Analysis of Death, Be Not Proud A Poem By John Donne

Too long a sacrifice

Can make a stone of the heart.

O when may it suffice?

That is Heaven’s part, our part

To murmur name upon name,

As a mother names her child

When sleep at last has come

On limbs that had run wild.

What is it but nightfall?

No, no, not night but death;

Was it needless death after all?

For England may keep faith

For all that is done and said.

We know their dream; enough

To know they dreamed and are dead;

And what if excess of love

Bewildered them till they died?

I write it out in a verse—

MacDonagh and MacBride

And Connolly and Pearse

Now and in time to be,

Wherever green is worn,

Are changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

Read More

• 
  On the Pulse of Morning a Poem By Maya Angelou
  On the Pulse of Morning Written By Maya Angelou A Rock, A River, A Tree… Read more: On the Pulse of Morning a Poem By Maya Angelou
• 
  Caged Bird a Poem Maya Angelou
  Caged Bird Written By Maya Angelou A free bird leaps on the back of the… Read more: Caged Bird a Poem Maya Angelou
• 
  NON-commitment a Poem By Chinua Achebe
  NON-commitment Written By Chinua Achebe Hurrah! to them who do nothing see nothing feel nothing… Read more: NON-commitment a Poem By Chinua Achebe
• 
  A Brave and Startling Truth a Poem By Maya Angelou
  A Brave and Startling Truth Written By Maya Angelou We, this people, on a small… Read more: A Brave and Startling Truth a Poem By Maya Angelou
• 
  Flying a Poem By Chinua Achebe
  Flying BY Chinua Achebe (for Niyi Osundare) Something in altitude kindles power-thirst Mere horse-height suffices… Read more: Flying a Poem By Chinua Achebe

thepoetshub