TOIL and grow rich,
What's that but to lie
With a foul witch
And after, drained dry,
To be brought
To the chamber where
Lies one long sought
With despair?
More verses by William Butler Yeats
- Under Ben Bulben
- The Old Men Admiring Themselves In The Water
- The Host Of The Air
- He Reproves The Curlew
- Paudeen