Yeats

The more I read Yeats, the more I like him. His poetry is such that it needs to be revisited, it needs to steep in your mind and your heart before it starts its affect. The subject of most of his poetry is not blunt, brash, or shocking, and the lyrical themes are subtle--but when I take in and absorb those subtle word choices, those clandestine descriptions, I find more depth each time.

I have an unfortunately strong proclivity to delineate between "craft" poetry and "content" poetry; by that I mean that I admire some work for its structure, word choice, etcetera, while I admire other work which has strong content, emotional evocation, etcetera. Each of Yeats' poems bridge this cap completely, but again: one must bask in his poetry for some time to collect every peculiar idiosyncracy, every intentional detail.