Page:The Complete Poems of Francis Ledwidge, 1919.djvu/95

Rh Our coming in the woods where first we met,

The dead leaves falling on their wild hair wet,

Their hands upon the fastenings of the gate?

This is the old, old pain come home once more,

Bent down with answers wild and very lame

For all my delving in old dog-eared lore

That drove the Sages mad. And boots the world

Aught for their wisdom? I have asked them, tame,

And watched the Earth by its own self be hurled

Atom by atom into nothingness,

Loll out of the deep canyons, drops of fire,

And kindle on the hills its funeral pyre,

And all we learn but shows we know the less.