W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899.
25. Aedh tells of the perfect Beauty
O
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.