Poem by Thomas MacDonagh

My Poet

--My poet the rose of his fancies
Wrought unwritten in verse,
And left but the lilies and pansies
To strew his early hearse.

--The master-dream of your poet
Has perished for ever then?
--What know we? Should we know it
If it were born again? 

1. The Seasons and the Leaves
2. A Dream of Being
3. In Dread
4. A Song of Another. For Eoghan
5. The Song of Joy

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