Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/103

Rh With moonbeams, than the spirits of delight

Walk the dark passages of Memory's hall.

We feel them not, but in the wastes of night

We hear their low-voiced mediums, and we rise

To wrestle old Regrets, to see old faces,

To meet and part in old tryst-trodden places

With breaking heart, and emptying of eyes.

I feel the warm hand on my shoulder light,

I hear the music of a voice that words

The slow time of the feet, I see the white

Arms slanting, and the dimples fold and fill....

I hear wing-flutters of the early birds,

I see the tide of morning landward spill,

The cloaking maidens, hear the voice that tells

"You'd never know" and "Soon perhaps again,"