 | The coming of love |  |
THE BIRDS OF THE DINGLE.
She keeps her promise, she who made the vowNo Romany law, no Romany guile, should ever
Divide their lives, nor Death's fell malice sever
The chain the sunrise forged 'twixt her and him;
She keeps her promise: see, through mists that swim,
Those eyes are hers—that brow is Rhona's brow—
Rhona's, who vowed to show the dukkeripen
Of Hope, the Golden Hand of promise, when
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Vowed she would gaze from ruby domes of morning;
She keeps her promise now.
| The coming of love | |