the rose and the gold had lined his mind
far from the cries of human kind.
the rose and the gold.
and twining through his verses glowed
the hues of Beauty as she goes
of rose, old gold, the living streams
no bartered dreams.
oh poet of the long agos
while here, our doorsteps fill
through you we sing and not by rote
the Irish summer linnet's note;
the wild myths' ocean all before
our dreaming hearts
that dreamed before
and will again
if words we keep
like angels watching
your long sleep.
mary angela douglas 24 may 2016