Roderic Quinn Biography

'TIS a tarnished book and old,
Edges frayed and covers green!
But, between the covers, gold —
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I SAID 'The dark deed matters nought,
And this green gown becomes her well;
For phrase and rhyme oft hide the thought,
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WE lit a fire, and straightway camped,
And all night long
We heard the river sing its song.
Our horses fed, and neighed, and stamped;
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WITH the sorrow on me
Neighbours come and go —
Think me vain and foolish
Nursing up my woe.
With the grief-blade in me
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THE long still day is ending
In hollow and on height,
The lighthouse seaward sending
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