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Discoveries: A Volume of Essays
Discoveries: A Volume of Essays
Discoveries: A Volume of Essays
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Discoveries: A Volume of Essays

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W.B. Yeats was an Irish poet who was one of the biggest contributors to the Irish Literary Revival of the late 19th and early 20th centuries.  In 1923, Yeats became the first Irishman to be awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature.  This edition of Discoveries: A Volume of Essays includes a table of contents.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateMar 22, 2018
ISBN9781518341649
Discoveries: A Volume of Essays
Author

W B Yeats

William Butler Yeats was born in 1865 in County Dublin. With his much-loved early poems such as 'The Stolen Child', and 'He Remembers Forgotten Beauty', he defined the Celtic Twilight mood of the late-Victorian period and led the Irish Literary Renaissance. Yet his style evolved constantly, and he is acknowledged as a major figure in literary modernism and twentieth-century European letters. T. S. Eliot described him as 'one of those few whose history is the history of their own time, who are part of the consciousness of an age which cannot be understood without them'. W. B. Yeats died in 1939.

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    Book preview

    Discoveries - W B Yeats

    DISCOVERIES: A VOLUME OF ESSAYS

    ..................

    W. B. Yeats

    KYPROS PRESS

    Thank you for reading. In the event that you appreciate this book, please consider sharing the good word(s) by leaving a review, or connect with the author.

    This book is a work of nonfiction and is intended to be factually accurate.

    All rights reserved. Aside from brief quotations for media coverage and reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form without the author’s permission. Thank you for supporting authors and a diverse, creative culture by purchasing this book and complying with copyright laws.

    Copyright © 2015 by W. B. Yeats

    Interior design by Pronoun

    Distribution by Pronoun

    TABLE OF CONTENTS

    Discoveries: A Volume of Essays

    PROPHET, PRIEST AND KING

    PERSONALITY AND THE INTELLECTUAL ESSENCES

    THE MUSICIAN AND THE ORATOR

    A BANJO PLAYER

    THE LOOKING-GLASS

    THE TREE OF LIFE

    THE PRAISE OF OLD WIVES’ TALES

    THE PLAY OF MODERN MANNERS

    HAS THE DRAMA OF CONTEMPORARY LIFE A ROOT OF ITS OWN

    WHY THE BLIND MAN IN ANCIENT TIMES WAS MADE A POET

    CONCERNING SAINTS AND ARTISTS

    THE SUBJECT MATTER OF DRAMA

    THE TWO KINDS OF ASCETICISM

    IN THE SERPENT’S MOUTH

    THE BLACK AND THE WHITE ARROWS

    HIS MISTRESS’S EYEBROWS

    THE TRESSES OF THE HAIR

    A TOWER ON THE APENNINE

    THE THINKING OF THE BODY

    RELIGIOUS BELIEF NECESSARY TO SYMBOLIC ART

    DISCOVERIES: A VOLUME OF ESSAYS

    ..................

    PROPHET, PRIEST AND KING

    ..................

    THE LITTLE THEATRICAL COMPANY I write my plays for had come to a west of Ireland town and was to give a performance in an old ball-room, for there was no other room big enough. I went there from a neighbouring country house and arriving a little before the players, tried to open a window. My hands were black with dirt in a moment and presently a pane of glass and a part of the window frame came out in my hands. Everything in this room was half in ruins, the rotten boards cracked under my feet, and our new proscenium and the new boards of the platform looked out of place, and yet the room was not really old, in spite of the musicians’ gallery over the stage. It had been built by some romantic or philanthropic landlord some three or four generations ago, and was a memory of we knew not what unfinished scheme.

    From there I went to look for the players and called for information on a young priest, who had invited them, and taken upon himself the finding of an audience. He lived in a high house with other priests, and as I went in I noticed with a whimsical pleasure a broken pane of glass in the fan-light over the door, for he had once told me the story of an old woman who a good many years ago quarrelled with the bishop, got drunk, and hurled a stone through the painted glass. He was a clever man, who read Meredith and Ibsen, but some of his books had been packed in the fire-grate by his house-keeper, instead of the customary view of an Italian lake or the coloured

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