My dear, my dear, I know More than another What makes your heart beat so; Not even your own mother Can know it as I know, Who broke my heart for her When the wild thought, That she denies And has forgot, Set all her blood astir And glittered in her eyes.
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Return to the William Butler Yeats library , or . . . Read the next poem; To Be Carved On A Stone At Thoor Ballylee