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William Butler Yeats - The Living Beauty
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I BADE, because the wick and oil are spent
And frozen are the channels of the blood,
My discontented heart to draw content
From beauty that is cast out of a mould
In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears,
Appears, but when we have gone is gone again,
Being more indifferent to our solitude
Than `twere an apparition.  O heart, we are old;
The living beauty is for younger men:
We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.
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