 | Irish Poems |  |
11
THE COMING BACK
To the Lord MacDonnell
When I came back to Ireland the leaves on the tree,
The birds on the branches would keep reminding me,
With, don't you remember? and could you forget?
Till I'm living and walking in the old times yet.
The birds on the branches would keep reminding me,
With, don't you remember? and could you forget?
Till I'm living and walking in the old times yet.
The wind from the mountains it blows fresh and strong:
Ah, don't you remember? is still the wind's song.
With, don't you remember? and could you forget?
As I went out a-walking 'twas the dead that I met.
Ah, don't you remember? is still the wind's song.
With, don't you remember? and could you forget?
As I went out a-walking 'twas the dead that I met.
There's a road runs to Wicklow: it goes past the door.
The dust of it's holy for feet it once bore.
They've all travelled Westward where the sun doesn't set.
Ah, don't you remember? and could you forget?
The dust of it's holy for feet it once bore.
They've all travelled Westward where the sun doesn't set.
Ah, don't you remember? and could you forget?
The blackbird he's mocking from the apple-bough:
Sure why would you trouble to be coming now
When them that sore missed you is past fear and fret?
Ah, don't you remember? and could you forget?
Sure why would you trouble to be coming now
When them that sore missed you is past fear and fret?
Ah, don't you remember? and could you forget?
12
There's not a flower in Ireland, there isn't a hill,
Nor yet a breath of the Four Winds but keeps reminding still,
Till my poor heart is troubled and my eyes are wet
For don't you remember? and could you forget?
Nor yet a breath of the Four Winds but keeps reminding still,
Till my poor heart is troubled and my eyes are wet
For don't you remember? and could you forget?
| Irish Poems | |