Poetry  |  Yeats  |  Wind among the Reeds  |  A Poet to His Beloved

Wind among the Reeds — A Poet to His Beloved

I bring you with reverent hands
The books of my numberless dreams,
White woman that passion has worn
As the tide wears the dove-grey sands,
And with heart more old than the horn
That is brimmed from the pale fire of time:
White woman with numberless dreams,
I bring you my passionate rhyme.
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