Though nurtured like the sailing moon
In beauty's murderous brood,
She walked awhile and blushed awhile
And on my pathway stood
Until I thought her body bore
A heart of flesh and blood.

But since I laid a hand thereon
And found a heart of stone
I have attempted many things
And not a thing is done,
For every hand is lunatic
That travels on the moon.

She smiled and that transfigured me
And left me but a lout,
Maundering here, and maundering there,
Emptier of thought
Than the heavenly circuit of its stars
When the moon sails out.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 2060 times | Comments (0)

Poet: William Butler Yeats
Poem: A Man Young And Old: I. First Love
Volume: The Tower
Year: Published/Written in 1928
Poem of the Day on:
Jan 5 2005
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