William Butler Yeats

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

Where My Books Go - Poem by William Butler Yeats

All the words that I utter,
And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,
And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
Storm-darken’d or starry bright.


Comments about Where My Books Go by William Butler Yeats

  • Rookie Pete Berney (11/21/2013 10:47:00 PM)

    I've been reading Yeats for 30 years, but can't remember reading this. Beautiful. (Report) Reply

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Read poems about / on: sad, night, heart, water



Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003



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