Beneath the ancient Irish skies, where legends weave their lore,
There blooms a love so timeless, in Yeats’ heart it soars.
His pen, it dances lightly, on pages white as snow,
Writing tales of Maud Gonne, with passion’s fervent glow.

In gardens wild with roses, where dreams and whispers play,
He finds her in the twilight, as night becomes the day.
Her eyes, a spark of starlight, her voice, a haunting song,
In every verse he pens, she lives, where memories belong.

Through years of fleeting moments, through echoes of the past,
Their souls entwined in poetry, a love that’s meant to last.
Though time may cast its shadows, and fate may drift apart,
The love for Maud Gonne lingers, in the chambers of his heart.

So let the world remember, this tale of love so true,
In every line of Yeats’ prose, her spirit shines anew.
For even as the ages pass, and stars fade from above,
The legacy of Yeats endures, a testament to love.