The Dolls
William Butler Yeats
Read by LibriVox Volunteers
William Butler Yeats was an Irish poet and one of the foremost figures of 20th-century literature. A pillar of both the Irish and British literary establishments, his earliest volume of verse was published in 1889, and its slow-paced and lyrical poems display Yeats's debts to Edmund Spenser, Percy Bysshe Shelley, and the poets of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. From 1900, Yeats's poetry grew more physical and realistic. In 1923, he was awarded the Nobel Prize in Literature. (Wikipedia ) (0 hr 11 min)
Chapters
The Dolls - Read by BK | 1:25 | Read by Bruce Kachuk |
The Dolls - Read by CD | 1:04 | Read by CalmDragon |
The Dolls - Read by DL | 1:11 | Read by David Lawrence |
The Dolls - Read by DM | 1:09 | Read by Dafni Ma |
The Dolls - Read by GG | 1:19 | Read by Greg Giordano |
The Dolls - Read by JH | 1:12 | Read by Jude |
The Dolls - Read by LAH | 1:13 | Read by Lee Ann Howlett |
The Dolls - Read by MSD | 1:01 | Read by Matthew Datcher |
The Dolls - Read by SS | 1:01 | Read by Scotty Smith |
The Dolls - Read by TP | 0:59 | Read by Tomas Peter |
Reviews
text of the poem
Basquetteur
THE DOLLS A doll in the doll-maker's house Looks at the cradle and balls: 'That is an insult to us.' But the oldest of all the dolls Who had seen, being kept for show, Generations of his sort, Out-screams the whole shelf: 'Although There's not a man can report Evil of this place, The man and the woman bring Hither to our disgrace, A noisy and filthy thing.' Hearing him groan and stretch The doll-maker's wife is aware Her husband has heard the wretch, And crouched by the arm of his chair, She murmurs into his ear, Head upon shoulder leant: 'My dear, my dear, oh dear, It was an accident.'