He Tells Of The Perfect Beauty
O cloud-pale eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman's gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
Top William Butler Yeats Poems
Analysis and Comments on He Tells Of The Perfect Beauty
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem He Tells Of The Perfect Beauty here.