Most read ▸
Poachers
Although each Galway wood
Has been our bed
Of marriage this many a year,
Here come let us spread
Rushes again for love,
Housing from eyes outside,
Where netting the sea’s live glitter
Those salmon poachers hide.
Bright love, from the waters of dew
I have moved to this night
Wilder in sport than poachers—
Whose draw-nets gathering light
Into a shivering pile,
Heap treasures on the shore—
While rushes net you, my treasure
Isled on my rush floor.Then what thin sign of a moon