William Butler Yeats

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

The Peacock - Poem by William Butler Yeats

What's riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.

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Read poems about / on: pride, wind

Poem Submitted: Monday, January 13, 2003

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