June 13, 2014
Yeats, Poet and Potential Magus

Yeats, Poets and Potential Magus

I wrote earlier here about Isaac Newton’s intense interest in the occult. He sought the Philosopher’s Stone, (It’s not just something from a Harry Potter book), studied alchemy, and believed that a Diana’s Tree was evidence that metals “possessed a sort of life.” Newton lived in a time when the distinctions between science, superstition, and pseudoscience were still being formulated.

I find it…

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June 13, 2014
Today is the birthday of poet William Butler Yeats. He was born June 13, 1865, in Sandymount, Republic of Ireland, he died January 28, 1939 in Menton, France.
A poem of his that I have always liked and that may be apprpriate now that he gone but still remembered…
When You are OldWhen 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 lookYour 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 fledAnd paced upon the mountains overheadAnd hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

Today is the birthday of poet William Butler Yeats. He was born June 13, 1865, in Sandymount, Republic of Ireland, he died January 28, 1939 in Menton, France.

A poem of his that I have always liked and that may be apprpriate now that he gone but still remembered…

When You are Old

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.

January 27, 2014
"The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun."

— from The Song of Wandering Angus by William Butler Yeats

June 13, 2013
It’s the birthday of poet and playwright W. B. Yeats, born 1865 in Dublin, Ireland.
Two things about him I had not known:
His aunt gave him a copy of Esoteric Buddhism about Eastern mystical philosophy, and Yeats especially loved its idea that the world of matter was an illusion.
At 20, he and a group of friends formed the Dublin Hermetic Society, in order to conduct experiments into the nature of ghosts and psychic powers. He continued throughout his life to consult with mediums and to experiment with automatic writing and séances.

"Now that my ladder’s gone
I must lie down where all the ladders start
In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.”

It’s the birthday of poet and playwright W. B. Yeats, born 1865 in Dublin, Ireland.

Two things about him I had not known:

His aunt gave him a copy of Esoteric Buddhism about Eastern mystical philosophy, and Yeats especially loved its idea that the world of matter was an illusion.

At 20, he and a group of friends formed the Dublin Hermetic Society, in order to conduct experiments into the nature of ghosts and psychic powers. He continued throughout his life to consult with mediums and to experiment with automatic writing and séances.

"Now that my ladder’s gone

I must lie down where all the ladders start

In the foul rag and bone shop of the heart.”

June 13, 2012
"For he would be thinking of love
Till the stars had run away
And the shadows eaten the moon."

— W.B. Yeats (on his birthday)

9:56pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zv4pbyNLxGsM
Filed under: poetry quote W.B. Yeats 
June 13, 2012
Today is birthday of the poet and playwright William Butler Yeats, born in Dublin, Ireland in 165).
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 lookYour 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 fledAnd paced upon the mountains overheadAnd hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
 The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats

Today is birthday of the poet and playwright William Butler Yeats, born in Dublin, Ireland in 165).

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.

 The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats

June 1, 2012
"What can be explained is not poetry."

— W.B. Yeats

5:44pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/Zv4pbyMZSGyk
  
Filed under: quote W.B. Yeats poetry 
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