Thomas MacDonagh

* * *

I heard a music sweet to-day,
    A simple olden tune,
And thought of yellow leaves of May
    And bursting buds of June,
Of dewdrops sparkling on a spray
    Until the thirst of noon.

A golden primrose in the rain
    Out of the green did grow--
Ah! sweet of life in Winter's wane
    When airs of April blow!--
Then drifted with the changing strain
    Into a dream of snow.