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William Butler Yeats (Уильям Батлер Йейтс)


The Arrow


I THOUGHT of your beauty, and this arrow,
Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow.
There's no man may look upon her, no man,
As when newly grown to be a woman,
Tall and noble but with face and bosom
Delicate in colour as apple blossom.
This beauty's kinder, yet for a reason
I could weep that the old is out of season. 



William Butler Yeats's other poems:
  1. An Acre Of Grass
  2. At Algeciras - A Meditaton Upon Death
  3. Parnell's Funeral
  4. To Some I Have Talked With by the Fire
  5. Men Improve with the Years


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