 | Irish Poems |  |
58
GRANUAILE
To Miriam Alexander
The green, oh the green, is the colour of the true.
And when the Winter's over what shall I do
But leave the town behind with the streets in dust and mire
And be stepping gladly Westward to my heart's desire?
And when the Winter's over what shall I do
But leave the town behind with the streets in dust and mire
And be stepping gladly Westward to my heart's desire?
Far to the Westward my love doth reside,
Her knees are to her forehead at coming of night-tide.
By the shores of the ocean she prays for relief,
That the High King of Heaven may ease her of her grief.
Her knees are to her forehead at coming of night-tide.
By the shores of the ocean she prays for relief,
That the High King of Heaven may ease her of her grief.
To the High King's Son as a bride she is dear;
She followed His sad fortunes through many a bitter year;
With stripes she was scourgèd, and barefoot and poor,
Whom the King's Son delighted in, was driven from the door.
She followed His sad fortunes through many a bitter year;
With stripes she was scourgèd, and barefoot and poor,
Whom the King's Son delighted in, was driven from the door.
The King's Son hath dressed her in green of the sea.
Her beauty shall be lifted as high as His Tree.
Set on a high throne 'twixt the deep and the deep,
She shall call home her children as He calls His sheep.
Her beauty shall be lifted as high as His Tree.
Set on a high throne 'twixt the deep and the deep,
She shall call home her children as He calls His sheep.
59
Oh, when the Winter's over what shall I do
But follow and find her, the dear one and the true.
I am crying my lone in the mirk and the rain,
That the High King of Heaven may bring me home again.
But follow and find her, the dear one and the true.
I am crying my lone in the mirk and the rain,
That the High King of Heaven may bring me home again.
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