W.B. Yeats (1865–1939). The Wind Among the Reeds. 1899.
26. Aedh hears the Cry of the Sedge
I
Of this desolate lake
Where wind cries in the sedge
Until the axle break
That keeps the stars in their round
And hands hurl in the deep
The banners of East and West
And the girdle of light is unbound,
Your breast will not lie by the breast
Of your beloved in sleep.