The Arrow

William Butler Yeats

I THOUGHT of your beauty, and this arrow,
Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow.
There's no man may look upon her, no man,
As when newly grown to be a woman,
Tall and noble but with face and bosom
Delicate in colour as apple blossom.
This beauty's kinder, yet for a reason
I could weep that the old is out of season.

Next 10 Poems

• William Butler Yeats : The Ballad Of Father Gilliagan
• William Butler Yeats : The Ballad Of Father Gilligan
• William Butler Yeats : The Ballad Of Father O'hart
• William Butler Yeats : The Ballad Of Moll Magee
• William Butler Yeats : The Ballad Of The Foxhunter
• William Butler Yeats : The Balloon Of The Mind
• William Butler Yeats : The Black Tower
• William Butler Yeats : The Blessed
• William Butler Yeats : The Cap And Bells
• William Butler Yeats : The Cat And The Moon

Previous 10 Poems

• William Butler Yeats : The Apparitions
• William Butler Yeats : That The Night Come
• William Butler Yeats : Symbols
• William Butler Yeats : Swift's Epitaph
• William Butler Yeats : Sweet Dancer
• William Butler Yeats : Supernatural Songs
• William Butler Yeats : Stream And Sun At Glendalough
• William Butler Yeats : Statistics
• William Butler Yeats : Spilt Milk
• William Butler Yeats : Solomon To Sheba