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 Friends by William Butler Yeats 
						Now must I these three praise --Three women that have wrought
 What joy is in my days:
 One because no thought,
 Nor those unpassing cares,
 No, not in these fifteen
 Many-times-troubled years,
 Could ever come between
 Mind and delighted mind;
 And one because her hand
 Had strength that could unbind
 What none can understand,
 What none can have and thrive,
 Youth's dreamy load, till she
 So changed me that I live
 Labouring in ecstasy.
 And what of her that took
 All till my youth was gone
 With scarce a pitying look?
 How could I praise that one?
 When day begins to break
 I count my good and bad,
 Being wakeful for her sake,
 Remembering what she had,
 What eagle look still shows,
 While up from my heart's root
 So great a sweetness flows
 I shake from head to foot.
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