ー　A part of the new work “IRELAND” (preliminary version).

　　Yea, would to God I were among the roses
　　That lean to kiss you as you float between
　　While on the lowest branch a bud uncloses
　　A bud uncloses, to touch you, queen.
　　Nay, since you will not love, would I were growing
　　A happy daisy, in the garden path
　　That so your silver foot might press me going
　　Might press me going even unto death.

　　from "Londonderry Air"