Poem by Thomas MacDonagh

A Woman

Time on her face has writ
    A hundred years,
And all the page of it
    Blurred with his tears;

Yet in his holiest crypt
    Treasuring the scroll,
Keeps the sweet manuscript
    Fair as her soul.

1. Dublin Tramcars
2. The Philistine
3. The Stars Stand up in the Air
4. Requies
5. On a Poet Patriot

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