Poems: To the Oaks of Glencree

To the Oaks of Glencree

My arms are round you, and I lean	 
Against you, while the lark	 
Sings over us, and golden lights, and green 
Shadows are on your bark.	 
  
There'll come a season when you'll stretch
Black boards to cover me;	 
Then in Mount Jerome I will lie, poor wretch,	 
With worms eternally.

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