Poem by Thomas MacDonagh

A Woman

Time on her face has writ
    A hundred years,
And all the page of it
    Blurred with his tears;

Yet in his holiest crypt
    Treasuring the scroll,
Keeps the sweet manuscript
    Fair as her soul.

1. The Philistine
2. The Stars Stand up in the Air
3. To a Wise Man
4. Dublin Tramcars
5. In Dread

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