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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.



Thomas MacDonagh


Thomas MacDonagh's other poems:
  1. Dublin Tramcars
  2. The Stars Stand up in the Air
  3. Averil
  4. The Philistine
  5. In the Storm


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