Hanrahan Laments Because Of His Wanderings

by William Butler Yeats

　　

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O Where is our Mother of Peace Nodding her purple hood? For the winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood. I would that the death-pale deer Had come through the mountain side, And trampled the mountain away, And drunk up the murmuring tide; For the winds that awakened the stars Are blowing through my blood, And our Mother of Peace has forgot me Under her purple hood.

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