"always either on a peak of happiness or drowning in black waters of despair they loved or they loathed, they lived in a world of superlatives.”

Under bare Ben Bulben’s head
In Drumcliff churchyard Yeats is laid.
An ancestor was rector there
Long years ago, a church stands near,
By the road an ancient cross.
No marble, no conventional phrase;
On limestone quarried near the spot
By his command these words are cut:

Cast a cold eye
On life, on death.
Horseman, pass by!

(Source: archerofmischief)


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