And many a poor man that has roved,
Loved and thought himself beloved,
From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet. A Prayer for My Daughter (l. 38-40). . . The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. Richard J. Finneran, ed. (1989) Macmillan.)

"Put the chair upon the grass:
Bring Rody and his hounds,
That I may contented pass
From these earthly bounds."

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "The Ballad of the Foxhunter.")

And found on the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships....

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "The Wanderings of Oisin.")

A spot whereon the founders lived and died
Seemed once more dear than life; ancestral trees,
Or gardens rich in memory glorified
Marriages, alliances, and families,
And every bride's ambition satisfied.

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet. Coole and Ballylee, 1931 (l. 33-37). . . The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. Richard J. Finneran, ed. (1989) Macmillan.)

It is most important that we should keep in this country a certain leisured class.... I am of the opinion of the ancient Jewish book which says "there is no wisdom without leisure."

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. Speech, March 28, 1923, to the Seanad Eireann, the Irish Senate.)

Poor men have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
And I am running to Paradise;
And many a darling wit's grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school,
Now it has filled an old sock full....

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Running to Paradise.")

Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill:
For there the mystical brotherhood
Of sun and moon and hollow and wood
And river and stream work out their will....

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Into the Twilight.")

Great works constructed there in nature's spite
For scholars and for poets after us,
Thoughts long knitted into a single thought,
A dance-like glory that those walls begot.

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "Coole Park, 1929.")

Time drops in decay,
Like a candle burnt out,
And the mountains and woods
Have their day, have their day....

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "The Moods.")

"The work is done," grown old he thought,
"According to my boyish plan;
Let the fools rage, I swerved in nought,
Something to perfection brought;"
But louder sang that ghost "What then?"

(William Butler Yeats (1865-1939), Irish poet, playwright. "What Then?")