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W. B. Yeats

W. B. Yeats

Her Dream

I dreamed as in my bed I lay,
All night’s fathomless wisdom come,
That I had shorn my locks away
And laid them on Love’s lettered tomb:
But something bore them out of sight
In a great tumult of the air,
And after nailed upon the night
Berenice’s burning hair.

#Irish #NobelPrize #XIXCentury #XXCentury

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