I met three children on the road —

The hawthorn trees were sweet with rain

The hills had drawn their white blinds down —

Three children on the road from town.

 

Their wealthy eyes in splendour mocked

Their faded rags and bare wet feet,

The King had sent his daughters out

To play at peasants in the street.

Also See: Remember Me (Spoken Word)

I could not see the palace walls;

The avenues were dumb with mist;

Perhaps a queen would watch and weep

For lips that she had borne and kissed —

 

And lost about the lonely world,

With treasury of hair and eye

The tigers of the world will spring,

The merchants of the world will buy.

 

And one will sell her eyes for gold,

And one will barter them for bread,

And one will watch their glory fade

Beside the looking-glass, unwed.

Read More: Poetry and Short Narrations

A hundred years will softly pass,

Yet on the Tipperary hills

The shadows of a king and queen

Will darken on the daffodils.

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