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. The Stars Stand up in the Air
2. To a Wise Man
3. In Dread
4. Barbara: Born 24th March, 1915
5. Dublin Tramcars

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

Print

1793 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version