To An Old Quill Of Lord Dunsanys

Before you leave my hands'

To lie where many odd things meet you,

Neglected darkling of the Muses,

I, the last of singers, greet you.

Snug in some white wing they found you,

On the Common bleak and muddy,

Noisy goslings gobbling round you .

In the pools of sunset, ruddy.

Have you sighed in wings

For the heights where others view

Bluer widths of heaven, and

At the utmost top of Beauty ?

No ! it cannot be ; the soul

Sigh with craves nor begs of us.

From such heights a poet stole

From a wing of Pegasus.

You have been where gods were

In the dawn of new creations,

Ere they woke to woman's

At the broken thrones of nations.

You have seen this old world

By old gods it disappointed,

Lying up in darkness,

By wild comets, unanointed.

But for Beauty

Have you still the sighing olden ?

I know mountains heather-crested,

Waters white, and waters golden.

There I'd keep you, in the

Beauty-haunts of bird and poet,

Sailing in a wing, the

Silences of lakes below it.

But I leave you by where no

Finds you, when I too be

From the puddles on this

Over the dark Rubicon.

This poem taken from "Last Songs" by Francis Ledwidge,

Published by Herbert Jenkins,

London 1918 [page 15-17]Poem Dated:

Londonderry,

September 18th, 1916.

Lord Dunsany wrote the introduction to this,

Ledwidge's final book of poetry.

Words and spelling verified JS