The Wheel

William Butler Yeats

THROUGH winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come --
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.

Next 10 Poems

• William Butler Yeats : The White Birds
• William Butler Yeats : The Wild Old Wicked Man
• William Butler Yeats : The Wild Swans At Coole
• William Butler Yeats : The Winding Stair And Other Poems
• William Butler Yeats : The Witch
• William Butler Yeats : The Withering Of The Boughs
• William Butler Yeats : These Are The Clouds
• William Butler Yeats : Those Dancing Days Are Gone
• William Butler Yeats : Those Images
• William Butler Yeats : Three Marching Songs

Previous 10 Poems

• William Butler Yeats : The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book Iii
• William Butler Yeats : The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book Ii
• William Butler Yeats : The Wanderings Of Oisin: Book I
• William Butler Yeats : The Valleys Of The Black Pig
• William Butler Yeats : The Valley Of The Black Pig
• William Butler Yeats : The Unappeasable Host
• William Butler Yeats : The Two Trees
• William Butler Yeats : The Two Kings
• William Butler Yeats : The Travail Of Passion
• William Butler Yeats : The Tower