Compared to the previous collection of poems, this one fell rather flat. The poems themselves aren’t really the problem, so much as the singularity of theme and topic throughout (roses, love, etc) which predictably made me feel rather nauseated. From a poet like Yeats this kind of stereotypical collection is highly disappointing, since we are well aware of what he can do within a single poem and in a broader collection. ( )

Being Yeats' second book of poetry, a slim volume which finds the poems more concise and with fewer dialogues and classical allusions. There are one or two much-loved and anthologized masterpieces, and it's a good hour's reading. ( )