Author Patrick Kavanagh Beauty was that Far vanished flame, Call it a star Wanting better name. And gaze and gaze Vaguely until Nothing is left Save a grey ghost-hill. Here wait I On the world's rim Stretching out hands To Seraphim. Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 Average: 3 (2 votes) Rate Log in or register to post comments