If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
William Butler YeatsRead
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a profound emotional experience that resonates deeply within the individual.
This quote by William Butler Yeats suggests that there is a voice or sentiment that speaks to us profoundly from within our hearts. It encapsulates the idea that true understanding and emotional truth often originate from our innermost selves, revealing a connection to our deep feelings and passions that may not be readily visible to the outside world.
In practice
This quote could be used in a motivational speech about following your passion.
If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
It was my first meeting with a philosophy that confirmed my vague speculations and seemed at once logical and boundless.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
How far away the stars seem, and how far is our first kiss, and ah, how old my heart.
For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.
Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
Thou has left behind Powers that will work for thee,-air, earth, and skies! There 's not a breathing of the common wind That will forget thee; thou hast great allies; Thy friends are exultations, agonies, And love, and man's unconquerable mind.
America is a poem in our eyes; its ample geography dazzles the imagination, and it will not wait long for metres.
I sometimes hold it half a sin To put in words the grief I feel For words, like nature, half reveal And half conceal the soul within. But, for the unquiet heart and brain A use measured language lie's The sad mechanic exercise Like dull narcotic's, numbing pain In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er Like coarsest clothes against the cold But large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more.
Fly not yet; 't is just the hour When pleasure, like the midnight flower That scorns the eye of vulgar light, Begins to bloom for sons of night And maids who love the moon.
When I breathe,_x000D_ This sound in my chest_x000D_ Lonelier than the winter wind
Sitting over words _x000D_ Very late I have heard a kind of whispered sighing _x000D_ Not far _x000D_ Like a night wind in pines or like the sea in the dark _x000D_ The echo of everything that has ever _x000D_ Been spoken _x000D_ Still spinning its one syllable _x000D_ Between the earth and silence.
Subscribe for the occasional hand-picked quote. No noise.