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Read more poems by William Butler Yeats: William Butler Yeats Poems at Poetry X.

Through winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come -
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.

Added: 14 Sep 2001 | Last Read: 13 Feb 2012 3:27 AM | Viewed: 3583 times

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