Poem by Thomas MacDonagh

A Dream of Age

I dreamt last night that I was very old,
And very lonesome, very sad of heart;
And, shunning men, dwelt in a place apart
Where none my barren sorrow might behold;
There brooded grim beside my hearth-stone cold
Cold days of shadow, dying, till with flame
Of happy memory once more you came
With laughing eyes and hair of burning gold.

-- O eyes of sudden joy!  O storm-blown hair!
O pale face of my love! why do you rise
Amid the haunting spectres of despair
To trouble their gaunt vigil with my cries?--
In tears I woke and knew the dream was true:
My youth was lost, and lost the love of you.

1. To a Wise Man
2. Of the Man of My First Play
3. Dublin Tramcars
4. Cormac Óg
5. The Philistine

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