The Sorrow of Love The bitter sweetness of love’s no refrain, A shadow swept across the dusk and stars And the boughs bend, the trees seem like hands in pain. Cold winds rage like the fire they dare not tame And the clashing waves come roaring through afar.

To find the whispering winds, to brush the dew, The mangled golden blossoms at my knees, With purple skin and brimming bubbles too. O Love, thou hast dangerously planned my heart and soul, And tender is the damning wind beyond the trees.

• William Butler Yeats