 | Dirge for Aoine and other poems |  |
xxxi
SILK OF THE KINE. I
(To Caroline Augusta Hopper)
Silk of the kine, do not those great waves grow
Weary of lashing granite shores of thine,
Shores that decay, and death will never know,
Silk of the kine?
Weary of lashing granite shores of thine,
Shores that decay, and death will never know,
Silk of the kine?
Are not thy soft eyes tired of shade and shine,
And thy kind lips a-weary, drinking so,
For many years a black and bitter wine?
Take comfort, Gra Machree: the years are slow,
Yet bring the day (tho' not for eyes of mine)
When thou shalt rise up crowned above thy foe,
Silk of the kine!
And thy kind lips a-weary, drinking so,
For many years a black and bitter wine?
Take comfort, Gra Machree: the years are slow,
Yet bring the day (tho' not for eyes of mine)
When thou shalt rise up crowned above thy foe,
Silk of the kine!
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