Then if he thrive and I may be cast away/ The worst was this my love was my decay

Were you but lying cold and dead,
And lights were paling out of the West,
You would come hither, and bend your head,
And I would lay my head on your breast;
And you would murmur tender words,
Forgiving me, because you were dead:
Nor would you rise and hasten away,
Though you have the will of the wild birds,
But know your hair was bound and wound
Above the stars and moon and sun:
O would, beloved, that you lay
Under the dock-leaves in the ground,
While lights were paling one by one.-William Butler Yeats

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O ME! what eyes hath love put in my head,  
Which have no correspondence with true sight:  
Or if they have, where is my judgment fled  
That censures falsely what they see aright?  
If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,          
What means the world to say it is not so?  
If it be not, then love doth well denote  
Love’s eye is not so true as all men’s: No,  
How can it? O how can love’s eye be true,  
That is so vex’d with watching and with tears?          
No marvel then though I mistake my view:  
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.  
O cunning Love! with tears thou keep’st me blind,  
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find!

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