The Arrow Poem by William Butler Yeats
The Arrow
Rating: ★3.2
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.
Thursday, May 17, 2001
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12/16/2024 5:45:04 PM # 1.0.0
