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W. B. Yeats

Now as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depths of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.

—W. B. Yeats, “The Magi,” The Collected Poems of W. B. Yeats. (Scribner; 2nd Revised edition September 9, 1996) Originally published 1889.

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