Upon A Dying Lady (William Butler Yeats Poems)
I Her Courtesy With the old kindness, the old distinguished grace, She lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red ...
I Her Courtesy With the old kindness, the old distinguished grace, She lies, her lovely piteous head amid dull red ...
'Would it were anything but merely voice!' The No King cried who after that was King, Because he had not ...
There was a green branch hung with many a bell When her own people ruled this tragic Eire; And from ...
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