Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/39

Rh Then doth the poet's voice like cuckoo's break,

And round his verse the hungry lapwing grieves,

And melancholy in his dreary wake

The funeral of the leaves.

Then when the Autumn dies upon the plain,

Wound in the snow alike his right and wrong,

The poet sings,—albeit a sad strain,—

Bound to the Mast of Song.