The Author William Butler Yeats

Ribb In Ecstasy


What matter that you understood no word!
Doubtless I spoke or sang what I had heard
In broken sentences. My soul had found
All happiness in its own cause or ground.
Godhead on Godhead in sexual spasm begot
Godhead. Some shadow fell. My soul forgot
Those amorous cries that out of quiet come
And must the common round of day resume.


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Return to the William Butler Yeats Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; Roger Casement

It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.