William Butler Yeats (13 June 1865 – 28 January 1939 / County Dublin / Ireland)
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The White Birds
I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
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