28 MAY 1932, Page 13

Poetry

Lady Gregory's Wake

DEAR Lady Gregory is dead : Let Saints and Fairies make her lied. For her that made so many books The mourning servitors and cooks Will gather round the lire and bake The loaves of sorrow for her wake. The swans will fly from Castle Coale, And children on their road to school Will watch them wing above the sedge And pass away in snowy wedge Enehantedwise : and find the drive With roving balladmen alive. Dear Lady Gregory lie at rest— A book of poems on her breast, While players in the outer room Play tales of Ireland's laughing Moth.

SHANE LESLIE.