Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/48

42 And Spring all radiant by the wayside pale,

Sets up her rock and reel.

See how she weaves her mantle fold on fold,

Hemming the woods and carpeting the wold.

Her warp is of the green, her woof the gold,

The spinning world her wheel.

By'n by above the hills a pilgrim moon

Will rise to light upon the midnight noon,

But still she plieth to the lonesome tune

Of the brown meadow rail.

No heavy dreams upon her eyelids weigh,

Nor do her busy fingers ever stay;

She knows a fairy prince is on the way

To wake a sleeping beauty.