He Tells of the Perfect Beauty (Poem by William Butler Yeats)

the Old Poems

He Tells of the Perfect Beauty
By William Butler Yeats


O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.

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