Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/108

 THE COMING POET

it far to the town?" said the poet,

As he stood 'neath the groaning vane,

And the warm lights shimmered silver

On the skirts of the windy rain.

"There are those who call me," he pleaded,

"And I'm wet and travel sore."

But nobody spoke from the shelter,

And he turned from the bolted door.

And they wait in the town for the poet

With stones at the gates, and jeers,

But away on the wolds of distance

In the blue of a thousand years 102