< Page:Poems of the Great War - Cunliffe.djvu
This page needs to be proofread.
ANONYMOUS
��Was seeking with a motley throng That well-remembered brasserie, And Trilby, hanging on his arm. Was laughing at him merrily.
But I, ah, where was I ? Afar I'd flown to that enchanted shore. Where o'er white-flashing waves the wind From Donegal to Mullaghmore Comes gallivanting bold and free — God grant again I there may be. At Mullaghmore, with Rosalind.
�� �
This article is issued from
Wikisource.
The text is licensed under Creative
Commons - Attribution - Sharealike.
Additional terms may apply for the media files.