HOW came this ranger
Now sunk in rest,
Stranger with strangcr.
On my cold breast?
What's left to Sigh for?
Strange night has come;
God's love has hidden him
Out of all harm,
Pleasure has made him
Weak as a worm.
More verses by William Butler Yeats
- In Memory Of Alfred Pollexfen
- The Ballad Of Moll Magee
- Old Tom Again
- The Gyres
- Form The Green Helmet And Other Poems