  Cloud that streams its breath of unseen flowers, Cloud with spice of bay, Of roses, lily-breathings, and the powers Of small violets, or, aloft, black poplars as they quiver! Cloud that streams its song of birds—no bird Seen to chant the song: Yet wide and keen as sun-breath it is heard, All the air itself a voice of voices chiming golden! Mary hath passed by. All plants sweet-leaved, Sweet-flowered; birds, sweet-voiced, Round her passing have their sweetness weaved. Let us yield our incense up, our anthems and our homage! SOME OF THESE POEMS HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED IN “THE IRISH MONTHLY” AND IN “THE ROSARY.” ONE WAS PUBLISHED IN “THE UNIVERSE.” Printed by |
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