O WOMEN, kneeling by your altar-rails long hence, <br />When songs I wove for my beloved hide the prayer, <br />And smoke from this dead heart drifts through the violet air <br />And covers away the smoke of myrrh and frankincense; <br />Bend down and pray for all that sin I wove in song, <br />Till the Attorney for Lost Souls cry her sweet cry, <br />And.call to my beloved and me: 'No longer fly <br />Amid the hovering, piteouS, penitential throng.'<br /><br />William Butler Yeats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-lover-speaks-to-the-hearers-of-his-songs-in/
