Mad Ireland hurt you into poetry.
...I was shocked and astonished when a daring little girl -- a cousin I think -- having waited under a group of trees in the avenue, where she knew [my grandfather] would pass near four o'clock on the...
To be the father of growing daughters is to understand something of what Yeats evokes with his imperishable phrase 'terrible beauty.' Nothing can make one so happily exhilarated or so frightened: it's...
Yeats was straight, but as Auden wrote in ‘In Memory of WB Yeats’: You were silly like us.
What can be explained is not poetry.
I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping...I hear it in the deep heart's core.