Today’s quote is from ‘He Wishes His Beloved Were Dead’.
‘…your hair was bound and wound
About the stars and moon and sun:’—W.B. Yeats
No matter how old we grow, how deep the furrows
Carved in the delicate lines of once-soft skin,
How thin the hair and threaded through with age,
Hoar-frosted strands and the dull ache of joints,
No matter how many miles between your fingers’ touch
And the whispered breath that lifts the hair above my ear,
You are here, bound to me with the strings of my heart,
With the gold and the bright, laughing green shoots of spring.