Page:The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter.djvu/142

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THE FLIGHT OF THE WILD GEESE
123

No smiles for your love like the tears of your sorrowing land,
Only Death in his reaping could make you return no more.
White birds, white birds, I dream of that glad homecoming;
Though human eyes could not mark your silent flight,
Women lie face down with clenched hands in the sea.
(Thrice the banshee cries in the stormy night.)