Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/153

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
134
DEATH OF GORMLAITH


Queen, your smiling lips were dumb
With that last dear name you cried,
Yet some had it, ere you died,
Niall of Ulster whispered, “Come.”