William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
William Butler Yeats
I had always to compel myself to fix the imagination upon the minds behind the personifications, and yet the personifications were themselves living and vivid. The minds that swayed these seemingly fluid images had doubtless form, and those images themselves seemed, as it were, mirrored in a living substance whose form is but change of form. From tradition and perception, one thought of one’s own life as symbolised by earth, the place of heterogeneous things, the images as mirrored in water and the images themselves one could divine but as air; and beyond it all there was, I felt confident, certain aims and governing loves, the fire that makes all simple. Yet the images themselves were fourfold, and one judged their meaning in part from the predominance of one out of the four elements, or that of the fifth element, the veil hiding another four, a bird born out of the fire.