Lament for Thomas MacDonagh

He shall not hear the bittern cry

In the wild sky, where he is lain,

Nor voices of the sweeter birds

Above the wailing of the rain

Nor shall he know when loud March blows

Thro' slanting snows her fanfare shrill,

Blowing to flame the golden cup

Of many an upset daffodil.

But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor,

And pastures poor with greedy weeds,

Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn,

Lifting her horn in pleasant meads.

- Francis Ledwidge

An Anthology of Irish Verse: The Poetry of Ireland from Mythological Times to the Present, Edited by Padraic Colum

Copyright, 1948, LiveRight Publishing Corporation

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