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William Butler Yeats - The ArrowWilliam Butler Yeats - The Arrow
Work rating: Medium


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.
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