Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/55

Rh And dreaming, a bee-luring lily bends

Its tender bell where blue dyke-water cowers

Thro' briars, and folded ferns, and gripping ends

Of wild convolvulus.

The lark's sky-way

Is desolate.

I watch an apple-spray

Beckon across a wall as if it knew

I wait the calling of the orchard maid.

Inly I feel that she will come in blue,

With yellow on her hair, and two curls strayed

Out of her comb's loose stocks, and I shall steal

Behind and lay my hands upon her eyes,

"Look not, but be my Psyche!"