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.
The Arrow
William Butler Yeats
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Poem topics: noble, woman, wild, face, apple, Season, reason, colour, delicate, arrow, beauty, thought, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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