The Author William Butler Yeats

The Lover Mourns For The Loss Of Love


Pale brows, still hands and dim hair,
I had a beautiful friend
And dreamed that the old despair
Would end in love in the end:
She looked in my heart one day
And saw your image was there;
She has gone weeping away.


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Return to the William Butler Yeats Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; The Lover Pleads With His Friend For Old Friends

It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.