Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/68

62 Is filmed with the twilight, and the rill

Shines like a scimitar upon the hill.

And moonbeams drooping thro' the coloured wood

Are full of little people wingéd white.

I'll wander thro' the moon-pale solitude

That calls across the intervening night

With river voices at their utmost height,

Sweet as rain-water in the blackbird's flute

That strikes the world in admiration mute.