Nascido em 1865 e falecido em 1935, William Butler Yeates, irlandês, é uma das figuras marcantes na poesia e literatura do séc. XX. Foi galardoado com o Nobel da Literatura de 1923.
Deixo esta poesia:

Ribh at the Tomb of Baile and Aillinn

B

With open book you ask me what I do.

Mark and digest my tale, carry it afar

To those that never saw this tonsured head

Nor heard this voice that ninety years have cracked.

Of Baile and Aillinn you need not speak,

All know their tale, all know what leaf and twig,

What juncture of the apple and the yew,

Surmount their bones; but speak what none have heard.

The miracle that gave them such a death

Transfigured to pure substance what had once

Been bone and sinew; when such bodies join

There is no touching here, nor touching there,

Nor straining joy, but whole is joined to whole;

For the intercourse of angels is a light

Where for its moment both seem lost, consumed.

Here in the pitch-dark atmosphere above

The trembling of the apple and the yew,

Here on the anniversary of their death,

The anniversary of their first embrace,

Those lovers, purified by tragedy,

Hurry into each other’s arms; these eyes,

By water, herb and solitary prayer

Made aquiline, are open to that light.

Though somewhat broken by the leaves, that light

Lies in a circle on the grass; therein

I turn the pages of my holy book.ECAUSE you have found me in the pitch-dark night