The Heart Of The Woman
by William Butler Yeats
O what to me the little room That was brimmed up with prayer and rest; He bade me out into the gloom, And my breast lies upon his breast. O what to me my mothers care, The house where I was safe and warm; The shadowy blossom of my hair Will hide us from the bitter storm. O hiding hair and dewy eyes, I am no more with life and death, My heart upon his warm heart lies, My breath is mixed into his breath.
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