WERE you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:
O would, beloved, that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground,
While lights were paling one by one.

  • 0
  • 0
  •  
  •  
Login to comment...
Email

Other works by W. B. Yeats...

Some poets who follow W. B. Yeats...

Patrícia Castro D. Thurmond   aka  JEF (James Everett Falcon) von Goethe Malak Alrashed Lisandro Montanaro Dylan Perez-Gale