The Witch

by William Butler Yeats

    Toil and grow rich,
    Whats that but to lie
    With a foul witch
    And after, drained dry,
    To be brought
    To the chamber where
    Lies one long sought
    With despair.

Add The Witch to your library.

Return to the William Butler Yeats library , or . . . Read the next poem; The Withering Of The Boughs