The Arrow (by William Butler Yeats)

Yeats [by George Charles Beresford, 1911]
The Arrow
by William Butler Yeats
from In the Seven Woods (1904)
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.
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The old is out of season
The flowers have faded
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we move into autumn
as effortlessly as we move
out of spring
colors bloom in the fall
of man's desire
flowers are not wasted
if they are transformed
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