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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. 



William Butler Yeats


William Butler Yeats's other poems:
  1. The Magi
  2. Men Improve with the Years
  3. The Municipal Gallery Revisited
  4. On a Political Prisoner
  5. Beautiful Lofty Things


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