A Poet To His Beloved
I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.
William Butler Yeats
| Best Poems | Short Poems
Email Poem |
More Poems by William Butler Yeats
Comments, Analysis, and Meaning on A Poet To His Beloved
Provide your analysis, explanation, meaning, interpretation, and comments on the poem A Poet To His Beloved here.
Commenting turned off, sorry.