Thursday, March 5, 2015

Poet to his beloved- W B Yeats

I BRING you with reverent hands 
The books of my numberless dreams; 
White woman that passion has worn 
As the tide wears the dove-gray sands, 
And with heart more old than the horn         
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time: 
White woman with numberless dreams 
I bring you my passionate rhyme.

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