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. Dublin Tramcars
2. Barbara: Born 24th March, 1915
3. Fairy Tales
4. My Love To-Night
5. The Stars Stand up in the Air

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

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