Thomas MacDonagh - My Poet

--My poet the rose of his fancies
Wrought unwritten in verse,
And left but the lilies and pansies
To strew his early hearse.

--The master-dream of your poet
Has perished for ever then?
--What know we? Should we know it
If it were born again?

Thomas MacDonagh

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/my-poet-3/