In the gentle sway of the emerald trees,
Where whispers of love dance with the breeze,
Yeats’ heart beats in timeless rhyme,
A melody echoing through endless time.

Amidst the shadows of moonlit grace,
His words paint dreams in a tender embrace,
Stars align in the night’s soft glow,
Guiding lovers where wild roses grow.

The river sings a song of old,
Carrying tales of passion bold,
In every ripple, a story told,
Of love eternal, never cold.

In the quiet of the twilight hour,
Yeats finds his muse in nature’s power,
With every line, his soul takes flight,
Into the depths of love’s pure light.