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— William Butler Yeats"I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow; And then I must scrub and bake and sweep Till the stars are beginning to blink and peep; And the young lie long and dream in their bed."
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O heart, we are old; The living beauty is for younger men: We cannot pay its tribute of wild tears.
— William Butler Yeats
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The hare grows old as she plays in the sun And gazes around her with eyes of brightness; Before the swift things that she dreamed of were done She limps along in an aged whiteness.
— William Butler Yeats
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