If a poet interprets a poem of his own he limits its suggestibility.
William Butler YeatsRead
I kiss you and kiss you, With arms around my own, Ah, how shall I miss you, When, dear, you have grown.
Interpretation
The quote expresses a deep affection and longing for a loved one who is growing and changing.
In this quote, William Butler Yeats reflects on the emotional intensity of love and the bittersweet nature of growth and change. As the speaker kisses their beloved, they are filled with both joy and sorrow, contemplating how their connection will evolve as the beloved matures and possibly moves away from their current state. It encapsulates the idea that love is powerful and filled with both moments of closeness and the inevitable distance that comes with time.
In practice
This quote could be used during a wedding toast to highlight the journey of love.
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.
Everyman is thoroughly happy twice in his life, just after he has met his first love, and just after he has left his last one.
But it's not enough to be in love. It's about how you spend your days, what you do together, who you choose as friends, and most of all it's what work you do ... Better to break both our hearts now than watch them wither away over time.
Love cannot be held prisoner because it is a river and will overflow its banks.
We must love men, ere to us they will seem worthy of our love.
Of all the nonsense written about love, none is more absurd than the notion that ideal love is selfless. To love is to see myself in you and to wish to celebrate myself with you. What I love is the embodiment of my values in another person. Love is an act of self-assertion, self-expression and a celebration of being alive.
I'm in love with language again because Luke B. Goebel is not afraid to take us back through the gullet of loss into the chaos of words. Someone burns a manuscript in Texas; someone's speed sets a life on fire; a heart is beaten nearly to death, the road itself is the trip, a man is decreated back to his animal past--better, beyond ego, beautiful, and look: there's an American dreamscape left. There's a reason to go on.
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