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1865–1939

HE HEARS THE CRY OF THE SEDGE

William Butler Yeats

I WANDER by the edge Of this desolate lake Where wind cries in the sedge Until the axle break

That keeps the stars in their round, And hands hurl in the deep The banners of East and West, And the girdle of light is unbound,

Your breast will not lie by the breast Of your beloved in sleep.

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