I THOUGHT of your beauty, and this arrow, <br />Made out of a wild thought, is in my marrow. <br />There's no man may look upon her, no man, <br />As when newly grown to be a woman, <br />Tall and noble but with face and bosom <br />Delicate in colour as apple blossom. <br />This beauty's kinder, yet for a reason <br />I could weep that the old is out of season.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-arrow/
