Aedh Wishes his Beloved were Dead by W.B. Yeats

Were you but lying cold and dead, / And lights were paling out of the West, / You would come hither, and bend your head, / And I would lay my head on your breast;

And you would murmur tender words, / Forgiving me, because you were dead: / Nor would you rise and hasten away, / Though you have the will of the wild birds, / But know your hair was bound and wound / About the stars and moon and sun: / O would beloved that you lay / Under the dock-leaves in the ground, / While lights were paling one by one.