Verse > W.B. Yeats > The Wind Among the Reeds
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W.B. Yeats (1865–1939).  The Wind Among the Reeds.  1899.

31. The Travail of Passion


WHEN the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide; 
When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay; 
Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way 
Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side, 
The hyssop-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kidron stream:         5
We will bend down and loosen our hair over you, 
That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew, 
Lilies of death-pale hope, roses of passionate dream. 


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