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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 Rose of the World
  2. For Anne Gregory
  3. The Rose of Battle
  4. The Old Men Admiring Themselves in the Water
  5. The Lover Tells of the Rose in His Heart


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