The Poetry Corner

Anthony O'Daly

By James Stephens

Since your limbs were laid out The stars do not shine, The fish leap not out In the waves. On our meadows the dew Does not fall in the morn, For O'Daly is dead: Not a flower can be born, Not a word can be said, Not a tree have a leaf; Anthony, after you There is nothing to do, There is nothing but grief.