William Butler Yeats - The Peacock lyrics

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William Butler Yeats - The Peacock lyrics

What's riches to him That has made a great peaco*k With the pride of his eye? The wind-beaten, stone-grey, And desolate Three-rock Would nourish his whim. Live he or die Amid wet rocks and heather, His ghost will be gay Adding feather to feather For the pride of his eye.