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The Spring In Ireland: 1916

Rating: 2.9
I

Do not forget my charge I beg of you ;
That of what flow'rs you find of fairest hue
And sweetest odor you do gather those
Are best of all the best — a fragrant rose,
A tall calm lily from the waterside,
A half-blown poppy leaning at the side
Its graceful head to dream among the corn,
Forget-me-nots that seem as though the morn
Had tumbled down and grew into the clay,
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COMMENTS
Michael Morgan 23 January 2016
Magnificent color and sonority. Treats its grave theme more subtly that Yeats' less gentle piece. All changes, nevertheless.
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