,Poetry
Early Days
SINCE one yard made my clothing, For sunset thought I keep The town that brought a shy field Over its only street,
Where asses, lazy as stone, stood And round an old mill-wheel A stairs stood out of the water That fattened in a green sleep.
And there with a shadow from Nephin, And the far lake all an car To a cuckoo's own echo, In the green rise of the year, Hearts quickened, while limbs grew restless, And as first love came my way - That road seemed always to wander Through the finery of a Sunday.
'Twas then that I handled old ballads, As notes in a pauper's care, By the wood, that shrunk from a saw-mill,
Where I whispered their words of despair, — Despair, like an aspen's grey whisper
That's overheard, while afar The hilly road turned to Silence By the signpost of a star !
No more now I go there, when Nephin, Like a black wave, thickens the dusk,
When a moon angles out of the dark land.
The bright slimness of the mill brook, When night breathes unspeakable secrets ; And when the night's gone No more I'll find my town thnid
In a still born dawn. F. R. HIGGINS.
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