Poem by Thomas MacDonagh

In September

The winds are in the wood again to-day,
    Not moaning as they moan among bare boughs
In winter dark, nor baying as they bay
    When hunting in full moon, the spring to rouse;

Nor as in summer, soft: the insistent rain
    Hisses the woe of my void life to me;
And the winds jibe me for my anguish vain,
    Sibilant, like waters of the washing sea.

1. Two Songs from the Irish
2. Barbara: Born 24th March, 1915
3. I Heard a Music Sweet To-day
4. To a Wise Man
5. A Song of Another. For Eoghan

Amy Levy In September ("The sky is silver-grey; the long")

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