merry breath, |
For joy is God and God is joy. |
With one long glance for girl and boy |
And the pale blossom
of the moon, |
He fell into a Druid swoon. |
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And in a wild and sudden dance |
We mocked at Time and Fate
and Chance |
And swept out of the wattled hall |
And came to where the dewdrops fall |
Among the foamdrops
of the sea, |
And there we hushed the revelry; |
And, gathering on our brows a frown, |
Bent all our swaying
bodies down, |
And to the waves that glimmer by |
That sloping green De Danaan sod |
Sang, God is joy
and joy is God, |
And things that have grown sad are wicked, |
And things that fear the dawn of the morrow |
Or
the grey wandering osprey Sorrow. |
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We danced to where in the winding thicket |
The damask roses,
bloom on bloom, |
Like crimson meteors hang in the gloom, |
And bending over them softly said, |
Bending
over them in the dance, |
With a swift and friendly glance |
From dewy eyes: Upon the dead |
Fall the leaves
of other roses, |
On the dead dim earth encloses: |
But never, never on our graves, |
Heaped beside the
glimmering waves, |
Shall fall the leaves of damask roses. |
For neither Death nor Change comes near us, |
And
all listless hours fear us, |
And we fear no dawning morrow, |
Nor the grey wandering osprey Sorrow. |
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The
dance wound through the windless woods; |
The ever-summered solitudes; |
Until the tossing arms
grew still |
Upon the woody central hill; |
And, gathered in a panting band, |
We flung on high each waving
hand, |
And sang unto the starry broods. |
In our raised eyes there flashed a glow |
Of milky brightness to
and fro |
As thus our song arose: You stars, |
Across your wandering ruby cars |
Shake the loose reins: you
slaves of God, |
He rules you with an iron rod, |
He holds you with an iron bond, |
Each one woven to the
other, |
Each one woven to his brother |
Like bubbles in a frozen pond; |
But we in a lonely land abide |
Unchainable
as the dim tide, |
With hearts that know nor law nor rule, |
And hands that hold no wearisome
tool, |
Folded in love that fears no morrow, |
Nor the grey wandering osprey Sorrow. |
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O Patrick! for a hundred
years |
I chased upon that woody shore |
The deer, the badger, and the boar. |
O Patrick! for a hundred
years |
At evening on the glimmering sands, |
Beside the piled-up hunting spears, |
These now outworn and
withered hands |
Wrestled among the island bands. |
O Patrick! for a hundred years |
We went a-fishing in
long boats |
With bending sterns and bending bows, |
And carven figures on their prows |
Of bitterns and
fish-eating stoats. |
O Patrick! for a hundred years |
The gentle Niamh was my wife; |
But now two things
devour my life; |
The things that most of all I hate: |
Fasting and prayers. |
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S. Patrick. Tell on. |
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Oisin. Yes,
yes, |
For these were ancient Oisins fate |
Loosed long ago from Heavens gate, |
For his last days to lie
in wait. |
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When one day by the tide I stood, |
I found in that forgetfulness |
Of dreamy foam a staff of wood |
From
some dead warriors broken lance: |
I turned it in my hands; the stains |
Of war were on it, and I wept, |
Remembering
how the Fenians stept |
Along the blood-bedabbled plains, |
Equal to good or grievous chance: |
Thereon
young Niamh softly came |
And caught my hands, but spake no word |
Save only many times my
name, |
In murmurs, like a frighted bird. |
We passed by woods, and lawns of clover, |
And found the horse
and bridled him, |
For we knew well the old was over. |
I heard one say, His eyes grow dim |
With all the
ancient sorrow of men; |
And wrapped in dreams rode out again |
With hoofs of the pale findrinny |
Over
the glimmering purple sea. |
Under the golden evening light, |
The Immortals moved among the fountains |
By
rivers and the woods old night; |
Some danced like shadows on the mountains, |
Some wandered ever
hand in hand; |
Or sat in dreams on the pale strand, |
Each forehead like an obscure star |
Bent down above
each hookèd knee, |
And sang, and with a dreamy gaze |
Watched where the sun in a saffron blaze |
Was
slumbering half in the sea-ways; |
And, as they sang, the painted birds |
Kept time with their bright wings
and feet; |
Like drops of honey came their words, |
But fainter than a young lambs bleat. |
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An old man stirs
the fire to a blaze, |
In the house of a child, of a friend, of a brother. |
He has over-lingered his welcome; the
days, |
Grown desolate, whisper and sigh to each other; |
He hears the storm in the chimney above, |
And
bends to the fire and shakes with the cold, |
While his heart still dreams of battle and love, |
And the cry
of the hounds on the hills of old. |
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But we are apart in the grassy places, |
Where care cannot trouble the
least of our days, |
Or the softness of youth be gone from our faces, |
Or loves first tenderness die in our
gaze. |
The hare grows old as she plays in the sun |
And gazes around her with eyes of brightness; |
Before
the swift things that she dreamed of were done |
She limps along in an aged whiteness; |
A storm
of birds in the Asian trees |
Like tulips in the air a-winging, |
And the gentle waves of the summer seas, |
That
raise their heads and wander singing, |
Must murmur at last, Unjust, unjust; |
And My speed is
a weariness, falters the mouse, |
And the kingfisher turns to a ball of dust, |
And the roof falls in of his
tunnelled house. |
But the love-dew dims our eyes till the day |
When God shall come from the sea with
a sigh |
And bid the stars drop down from the sky, |
And the moon like a pale rose wither away. |
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