Hanrahan Laments because of his Wanderings by W.B. 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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