THREE CHILDREN NEAR CLONMEL I met three children on the road -- The hawthorn trees were sweet with rain The hills had drawn their white blinds down -- Three children on the road from town. Their wealthy eyes in splendour mocked Their faded rags and bare wet feet, The King had sent his daughters out To play at peasants in the street. I could not see the palace walls; The avenues were dumb with mist; Perhaps a queen would watch and weep For lips that she had borne and kissed -- And lost about the lonely world, With treasury of hair and eye The tigers of the world would spring, The merchants of the world would buy. And one will sell her eyes for gold, And one will barter them for bread, And one will watch their glory fade Beside the looking-glass unwed. A hundred years will softly pass, Yet on the Tipperary hills The shadows of a king and queen Will darken on the daffodils. -- Eileen Shanahan (born 1901)