Poem by Thomas MacDonagh

My Love To-Night

My love to-night, her arm across her face,
    Has wept for me, wandering she knows not where,
And wept the while she suffered his embrace,
    Letting him think she wept for other care.

Weep, O my love, for your own piteous fate,
    For all that now is lost of your love's right:
I wait alone, without -- I tearless wait,
    For you, my love, more bitter is this night.

1. To a Wise Man
2. Of the Man of My First Play
3. Dublin Tramcars
4. Cormac Óg
5. The Philistine

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