W. B. Yeats, “He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead”

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Were you but lying cold and dead, And lights were paling out of the West, You would come hither, and bend your head, And I would lay my head on your breast; And you would murmur tender words, Forgiving me, … Read More

W. B. Yeats, “He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead”

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Were you but lying cold and dead, And lights were paling out of the West, You would come hither, and bend your head, And I would lay my head on your breast; And you would murmur tender words, Forgiving me, … Read More