(13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)

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He Tells Of The Perfect Beauty

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.

Submitted: Tuesday, May 15, 2001


Read poems about / on: woman, beauty, dream, sleep, god, time, heart, sky, star, women

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