A Poet To His Beloved

William Butler Yeats

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.

Next 10 Poems

• William Butler Yeats : A Prayer For My Daughter
• William Butler Yeats : A Prayer For My Son
• William Butler Yeats : A Prayer For Old Age
• William Butler Yeats : A Prayer On Going Into My House
• William Butler Yeats : A Song
• William Butler Yeats : A Song From The Player Queen
• William Butler Yeats : A Statesman's Holiday
• William Butler Yeats : A Stick Of Incense
• William Butler Yeats : A Thought From Propertius
• William Butler Yeats : A Woman Homer Sung

Previous 10 Poems

• William Butler Yeats : A Nativity
• William Butler Yeats : A Model For The Laureate
• William Butler Yeats : A Memory Of Youth
• William Butler Yeats : A Meditation In Time Of War
• William Butler Yeats : A Man Young And Old: Xi. From Oedipus At Colonus
• William Butler Yeats : A Man Young And Old: X. His Wildness
• William Butler Yeats : A Man Young And Old: Viii. Summer And Spring
• William Butler Yeats : A Man Young And Old: Vii. The Friends Of His Youth
• William Butler Yeats : A Man Young And Old: Vi. His Memories
• William Butler Yeats : A Man Young And Old: V. The Empty Cup