I BADE, because the wick and oil are spent <br />And frozen are the channels of the blood, <br />My discontented heart to draw content <br />From beauty that is cast out of a mould <br />In bronze, or that in dazzling marble appears, <br />Appears, but when wc have gone is gone again, <br />Being more indifferent to our solitude <br />Than 'twere an apparition. O heart, we are old; <br />The living beauty is for younger men: <br />We cannot pay its rribute of wild tears.<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-living-beauty/
