Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.
Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.
Her Anxiety
William Butler Yeats
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Poem topics: beauty, breath, death, spring, earth, true, body, touch, prove, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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