Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/62

 THE SINGER'S MUSE

in these to make her kitchen sweet,

Haw blossoms and the roses of the lane.

Her heart seemed in her eyes so wild they beat

With welcome for the boughs of Spring again.

She never heard of Babylon or Troy,

She read no book, but once saw Dublin town;

Yet she made a poet of her servant boy

And from Parnassus earned the laurel crown.

If Fame, the Gorgon, turns me into stone

Upon some city square, let someone place

Thorn blossoms and lane roses newly blown

Beside my feet, and underneath them trace: 56