Poem by William Butler Yeats

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. 

1. The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water
2. The Rose of Peace
3. The Rose of Battle
4. The Ballad of Father Gilligan
5. The Coming of Wisdom with Time

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