Favourite Poems: Golden Stockings by Oliver St. John Gogarty

This poem is fairly well-known in Ireland but, I'm guessing, almost completely unknown outside it. I have mixed feelings about introducing such poems to an international readership: I like the idea of a "national literature" and literary provincialism. But my little corner of the internet is hardly going to make much of a difference.

Do I have to say anything about this poem? Words like "dainty", "delicate", and "delightful" suggest themselves. It has enough pathos to avoid being twee. The last line is perfect.

Golden Stocking by Oliver St. John Gogarty

Golden stockings you had on
In the meadow where you ran;
And your little knees together
Bobbed like pippins in the weather,
When the breezes rush and fight
For those dimples of delight,
And they dance from the pursuit,
And the leaf looks like the fruit.

I have many a sight in mind
That would last if I were blind;
Many verses I could write
That would bring me many a sight.
Now I only see but one,
See you running in the sun,
And the gold-dust coming up
From the trampled buttercup.