Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/110

 THE VISION ON THE BRINK

when you sit in the deep hours alone,

And from the sleeps you snatch wake quick and feel

You hear my step upon the threshold-stone,

My hand upon the doorway latchward steal,

Be sure 'tis but the white winds of the snow,

For I shall come no more.

And when the candle in the pane is wore,

And moonbeams down the hill long shadows throw,

When night's white eyes are in the chinky door, 104