Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/164

158 I have missed much that I shall not retrieve,

Far will I wander yet with much to do.

Much will I spurn before I yet meet you,

So fair I can't deceive.

Your name is in the whisper of the woods

Like Beauty calling for a poet's song

To one whose harp had suffered many a wrong

In the lean hands of Pain. And when the broods

Of flower eyes waken all the streams along

In tender whiles, I feel most near to you:—

Oh, when we meet there shall be sun and blue

Strong as the spring is strong.