by William Butler Yeats
O hurry where by water among the trees
The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,
When they have but looked upon their images
Would none had ever loved but you and I!
Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed
Pale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,
When the sun looked out of his golden hood?
O that none ever loved but you and I!
O hurty to the ragged wood, for there
I will drive all those lovers out and cry
O my share of the world, O yellow hair!
No one has ever loved but you and I.