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{{poem-on|The Wheel}}<poem>
{{poem-on|The Wheel}}<poem>
 
Through winter-time we call on spring,
THROUGH winter-time we call on spring,  
And through the spring on summer call,
And through the spring on summer call,  
And when abounding hedges ring
And when abounding hedges ring  
Declare that winter's best of all;
Declare that winter's best of all;  
And after that there's nothing good
And after that there s nothing good  
Because the spring-time has not come —
Because the spring-time has not come —  
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Nor know that what disturbs our blood  
Is but our longing for the tomb.
Is but its longing for the tomb.
</poem>{{poem-off|1928}}
</poem>{{poem-off|1928}}



Latest revision as of 23:55, 1 November 2012

The Wheel
written by William Butler Yeats
From The Tower (book), 1928 Link to further information



The Wheel


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 our longing for the tomb.


1928


Notes

See the Russian translation by Evgeny Witkowsky:

Works by this author are in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 86 years or less. cs | de | en | eo | es | fr | he | pl | ru | zh
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