He shall not hear the bittern cry <br />In the wild sky, where he is lain, <br />Nor voices of the sweeter birds, <br />Above the wailing of the rain. <br /> <br />Nor shall he know when loud March blows <br />Thro' slanting snows her fanfare shrill, <br />Blowing to flame the golden cup <br />Of many an upset daffodil. <br /> <br />But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor <br />And pastures poor with greedy weeds <br />Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn <br />Lifting her horn in pleasant meads.<br /><br />Francis Ledwidge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lament-for-thomas-mcdonagh/
