O CLOUD-PALE eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes, <br />The poets labouring all their days <br />To build a perfect beauty in rhyme <br />Are overthrown by a woman's gaze <br />And by the unlabouring brood of the skies: <br />And therefore my heart will bow, when dew <br />Is dropping sleep, until God burn time, <br />Before the unlabouring stars and you.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/he-tells-of-the-perfect-beauty/
