(Easter 1916) <br /> <br />Censored lies that mimic truth… <br />Censored truth as pale as fear… <br />My heart is like a rousing bell - <br />And but the dead to hear… <br /> <br />My heart is like a mother bird, <br />Circling ever higher, <br />And the nest-tree rimmed about <br />By a forest fire… <br /> <br />My heart is like a lover foiled <br />By a broken stair - <br />They are fighting to-night in Sackville Street, <br />And I am not there!<br /><br />Lola Ridge<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-tidings-2/
