Sunday Poem: William Butler Yeats – Where My Books go

William Butler Yeats. b. 1865
  
Where My Books go
  
ALL the words that I utter,
  And all the words that I write,
Must spread out their wings untiring,
  And never rest in their flight,
Till they come where your sad, sad heart is,          5
  And sing to you in the night,
Beyond where the waters are moving,
  Storm-darken’d or starry bright.
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