Yeats

The Heart of The Woman
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,          5 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,   10 My heart upon his warm heart lies,   My breath is mixed into his breath.