William Butler Yeatsの名言
A line will take us hours maybe; Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought, Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
A pity beyond all telling Is hid in the heart of love.
A thought Of that late death took all my heart for speech.
All hatred driven hence, The soul recovers radical innocence And learns at last that it is self-delighting, Self-appeasing, self-affrighting, And that its own sweet will is Heaven's will
All perform their tragic play, There struts Hamlet, there is Lear.
An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress.
An intellectual hatred is the worst, So let her think opinions are accursed. Have I not seen the loveliest woman born Out of the mouth of Plenty's horn, Because of her opinionated mind Barter that horn and every good By quiet natures understood For an old bellows full of angry wind?
And I may dine at journey's end With Landor and with Donne.
And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon The golden apples of the sun.
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