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William Butler Yeats
How many loved your moments of glad grace, and loved the pilgrim soul in you.
The silver apples of the moon
The golden apples of the sun.

Oh, my pedal,

the rain of the flower

like the raindrop of the nature ,

falls over my eyelashes,my nose

and my lips.

Looking forward to the sky,

Like my stolen petal's color.

blue to the grey,

grey to fall asleep aside the glowing bars.

But now,

near the beginning edge

it's orange and pink,

full of stories.

One

is my favor

and the other

is my enermy, once.

My blue sky

has the palm leaf all the time

Except

the breezing wind in the dark autumn.

Down by the sally Gardens,

his face hid behind a heaven

amid a crowd of stars.

If I were Miss Maud Gonne,

Not the Tin whistle,

But the Uillean pipes.

All for the Celtic.  

It's my partition of my dear flower.