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And immediately
Rather than words comes the thought of high windows:
The sun-comprehending glass,
And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows
Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.
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High windows
"But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams."
From ‘He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven’, W. B. Yeats.
Posted
3 months ago
with 10 notes
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W. B. Yeats
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Poetry
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Literature
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He Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven
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