The Heart Of The Woman by W.B.Yeats

 

O WHAT to me the little room

 

That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;

 

He bade me out into the gloom,

 

And my breast lies upon his breast.

 

O what to me my mother’s care,

 

The house where I was safe and warm;

 

The shadowy blossom of my hair

 

Will hide us from the bitter storm.

 

O hiding hair and dewy eyes,

 

I am no more with life and death,

 

My heart upon his warm heart lies,

 

My breath is mixed into his breath.