| Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). Poetry: A Magazine of Verse. 1912–22. | | | | Deirdre | | By Moireen Fox a Cheavasa |
| | | NOW thou art hidden, I have no place of rest. | |
| Where should I sleep when the earth lies on thy heart? | |
| The darkness had no peril when thy arms were round me, Naoise, | |
| But where shall I hide from the night now that I am alone? | |
| The stones that will cover my body are all I desire. | 5 |
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| The light of the sun is a burden too heavy for me. | |
| I would I could shut out all but the darkness wherein thou dwellest. | |
| I that had more treasure than the great kings of the world— | |
| I am bare to the wind, without shelter, without love. | |
| Henceforth for ever I have nothing but grief and silence and weeping. | 10 | | | |
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