Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/91

Rh With other dreams long over, as a gate

Singing upon the wind the anvil song,

Sang of the Spring when first He dreamt of me

In that old town all hills and signs that creak:—

And He remembered me as something far

In old imaginations, something weak

With distance, like a little sparking star

Drowned in the lavender of evening sea.