O CLOUD-PALE eyelids, dream-dimmed eyes,
The poets labouring all their days
To build a perfect beauty in rhyme
Are overthrown by a woman’s gaze
And by the unlabouring brood of the skies:
And therefore my heart will bow, when dew
Is dropping sleep, until God burn time,
Before the unlabouring stars and you.
William Butler Yeats.
Artist Annie Stegner
Text and image source: Snowwolfs Woodland Nook https://www.facebook.com/SnowwolfsWoodlandNook/