NOW must I these three praise -- <br />Three women that have wrought <br />What joy is in my days: <br />One because no thought, <br />Nor those unpassing cares, <br />No, not in these fifteen <br />Many-times-troubled years, <br />Could ever come between <br />Mind and delighted mind; <br />And one because her hand <br />Had strength that could unbind <br />What none can understand, <br />What none can have and thrive, <br />Youth's dreamy load, till she <br />So changed me that I live <br />Labouring in ecstasy. <br />And what of her that took <br />All till my youth was gone <br />With scarce a pitying look? <br />How could I praise that one? <br />When day begins to break <br />I count my good and bad, <br />Being wakeful for her sake, <br />Remembering what she had, <br />What eagle look still shows, <br />While up from my heart's root <br />So great a sweetness flows <br />I shake from head to foot.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/friends-2/
