In the quiet corners of a forgotten book,
Where words of longing softly reside,
Yeats’ love whispers through the pages,
A tender echo of time’s gentle tide.

Beneath the moon’s watchful gaze,
His verses dance in the cool night air,
Carrying dreams of distant shores,
Where hearts once met, beyond compare.

In starlit fields where shadows play,
His love unfolds like a gentle song,
A melody that knows no end,
In the embrace where souls belong.

Through every line, a timeless vow,
Crafted in the language of the heart,
Yeats’ love, a beacon bright,
Guiding us through worlds apart.