 | Herb o' Grace |  |
75
PANSIES
77
THE DREAM
(For my Father)
Over and over again I dream a dream,
I am coming home to you in the starlit gloam;
Long was the day from you and sweet 'twill seem
The day is over and I am coming home.
I am coming home to you in the starlit gloam;
Long was the day from you and sweet 'twill seem
The day is over and I am coming home.
Then I shall find you as in days long past,
Sitting so quietly in the firelight glow;
“Love,” you will say to me, “you are come at last.”
Your eyes be glad of me as long ago.
Sitting so quietly in the firelight glow;
“Love,” you will say to me, “you are come at last.”
Your eyes be glad of me as long ago.
All I have won since then will slip my hold,
Dear love and children, the long years away;
I shall come home to you the girl of old,
Glad to come home to you—oh, glad to stay!
Dear love and children, the long years away;
I shall come home to you the girl of old,
Glad to come home to you—oh, glad to stay!
Often and often I am dreaming yet
Of the firelit window when I've crossed the hill
And I coming home to you from night and wet:
Often and often I am dreaming still.
Of the firelit window when I've crossed the hill
And I coming home to you from night and wet:
Often and often I am dreaming still.
78
Over and over again I dream my dream.
Ah, why would it haunt me if it wasn't true?
I am travelling home to you by the last red gleam,
In the quiet evening I am finding you.
Ah, why would it haunt me if it wasn't true?
I am travelling home to you by the last red gleam,
In the quiet evening I am finding you.
79
THE MOTHER GIVES UP HER DAUGHTER
Though I must yield her up to you, her lover,
I have had sweetness more than you can know,
The little great-eyed maid beyond recover,
And all her tender worship long ago.
I have had sweetness more than you can know,
The little great-eyed maid beyond recover,
And all her tender worship long ago.
Oh, you are wild for her and little wonder!
She is so fair, so honest, kind and true.
But in the lonely house I sit and ponder
On what was mine and shall not pass to you.
She is so fair, so honest, kind and true.
But in the lonely house I sit and ponder
On what was mine and shall not pass to you.
Oh, little darling, how the years went flying,
And I her moon, her stars, her heart's delight!
I hardly knew my loss and the dear dying
Of lovely childhood with the day and night.
And I her moon, her stars, her heart's delight!
I hardly knew my loss and the dear dying
Of lovely childhood with the day and night.
Take her—oh, she is sweet beyond all praises!
You shall not have her childhood sweeter still,
Gone with the dancing daffodils and daisies,
Where she was mine upon a heavenly hill.
You shall not have her childhood sweeter still,
Gone with the dancing daffodils and daisies,
Where she was mine upon a heavenly hill.
80
THE LITTLE OLD WOMAN
There's a Little Old Woman walks in the night,
Singing her love song like a falling keen;
The Little Old Woman is the heart's delight,
With the gold crown under her hood to tell her queen.
Singing her love song like a falling keen;
The Little Old Woman is the heart's delight,
With the gold crown under her hood to tell her queen.
The Little Old Woman's coming up this way,
Playing on her harp-strings a magic air;
There's this one and that one, they may not stay,
Stealing out in the night after the player.
Playing on her harp-strings a magic air;
There's this one and that one, they may not stay,
Stealing out in the night after the player.
The Little Old Woman is at the door,
Though 'tis a queen she is, in rags she goes,
Open the door to her, long-waited for!
Oh, Love and Delight you are, the Dear Black Rose.
Though 'tis a queen she is, in rags she goes,
Open the door to her, long-waited for!
Oh, Love and Delight you are, the Dear Black Rose.
The Little Old Woman she is begging bread;
She shall never go hungry while the ages pass,
With the love of her lovers she shall be fed
And their hearts lie under her feet in the green grass.
She shall never go hungry while the ages pass,
With the love of her lovers she shall be fed
And their hearts lie under her feet in the green grass.
81
They go from the lit board and the fire of peat
And the dreams and the longing stir in the blood.
Sweet to be poor with her, yea, death is sweet,
For the Dear Rose of Beauty in the beggar's hood.
And the dreams and the longing stir in the blood.
Sweet to be poor with her, yea, death is sweet,
For the Dear Rose of Beauty in the beggar's hood.
82
VIGIL
At night, when all the house is still,
Wide-waked the chairs and tables come
And yawn and stretch their limbs until
The maids appear with pan and broom.
Wide-waked the chairs and tables come
And yawn and stretch their limbs until
The maids appear with pan and broom.
Through the dim hours they creak and groan,
Their laughter plays with tyrant Man,
Shaken with stiff derision
For his pretensions and his span.
Their laughter plays with tyrant Man,
Shaken with stiff derision
For his pretensions and his span.
Where's then their willing servitude?
Meek slaves for their creator's use.
They make a mock of flesh and blood
That passes with a morning's dews.
Meek slaves for their creator's use.
They make a mock of flesh and blood
That passes with a morning's dews.
The heart that once leaped in the tree
Yet lives in the fantastic shapes
That foolish Man hath made to be—
But see how wide yon cupboard gapes!
Yet lives in the fantastic shapes
That foolish Man hath made to be—
But see how wide yon cupboard gapes!
83
With “Yours” and “Mine” they make great sport,
Who saw us come and see us go,
And will be when no least report
Of us but what a stone can show.
Who saw us come and see us go,
And will be when no least report
Of us but what a stone can show.
When ghosts and owlets flit abroad,
The furniture's awake, aware,
The floor complaining of its load,
And what a creaking of the stair!
The furniture's awake, aware,
The floor complaining of its load,
And what a creaking of the stair!
84
THE GARDEN
I know a garden like a child,
Clean and new-washed and reconciled.
It grows its own sweet way, yet still
Has guidance of some tender will
That clips, confines, its wilder mood
And makes it happy, being good.
Clean and new-washed and reconciled.
It grows its own sweet way, yet still
Has guidance of some tender will
That clips, confines, its wilder mood
And makes it happy, being good.
Around the lordly mountains stand,
For this is an enchanted land,
As though their splendours stood to grace
This little lovely garden place,
Looking with wise and keeping eyes
Upon the garden sanctities.
For this is an enchanted land,
As though their splendours stood to grace
This little lovely garden place,
Looking with wise and keeping eyes
Upon the garden sanctities.
Box borders edge each little bed,
Paths narrow for a child to tread
Divide the kitchen garden, dear
And sweet with musk and lavender,
And water-mints and beans in bloom.
Be sure the honey-bee's at home.
Paths narrow for a child to tread
Divide the kitchen garden, dear
And sweet with musk and lavender,
And water-mints and beans in bloom.
Be sure the honey-bee's at home.
85
How should I tell in a sweet list
Of beauties, rose and amethyst;
The little water-garden cool
On sultry days, and beautiful
The wall-garden, the shade, the sun,
Since they are lovely, every one.
Of beauties, rose and amethyst;
The little water-garden cool
On sultry days, and beautiful
The wall-garden, the shade, the sun,
Since they are lovely, every one.
Hot honey of the pines is sweet,
And when the day's at three o'clock heat
A winding walk will you invite
To a new garden out of sight.
And a green seat is set so near
The sluggish, stealing backwater.
And when the day's at three o'clock heat
A winding walk will you invite
To a new garden out of sight.
And a green seat is set so near
The sluggish, stealing backwater.
The Spirit of the garden plays
At hide-and-seek an hundred ways
And when you've captured her, she will
Elude you, calling backward still,
A silver echo—a sweet child,
Demure and lovesome, gay and wild.
At hide-and-seek an hundred ways
And when you've captured her, she will
Elude you, calling backward still,
A silver echo—a sweet child,
Demure and lovesome, gay and wild.
86
WIND
O Wind, I cannot see you pass,
And yet I feel you as you go
Around the world and every place,
Shouting and singing loud and low.
And yet I feel you as you go
Around the world and every place,
Shouting and singing loud and low.
Your breath, your touch, is on my cheeks,
Such soft caressing finger-tips!
Can it be you whose anger wrecks
The high trees and the tallest ships?
Such soft caressing finger-tips!
Can it be you whose anger wrecks
The high trees and the tallest ships?
You run so light o'er field and hill,
You shake no frailest blossom down,
And yet make havoc when you will
O'er land and sea, in country and town.
You shake no frailest blossom down,
And yet make havoc when you will
O'er land and sea, in country and town.
I hear you waking up from sleep
Over the hills and far away,
You giant, roaring as you leap
O'er lambs and daisies at their play.
Over the hills and far away,
You giant, roaring as you leap
O'er lambs and daisies at their play.
87
O Wind, your name makes music sweet!
You are a lovely thing, O Wind!
And how the world were incomplete
Without your unseen presence kind.
You are a lovely thing, O Wind!
And how the world were incomplete
Without your unseen presence kind.
For now your arms are round my neck,
And now your buffets are too rough.
And your sharp kisses on my cheek,
And your fierce clasp and your wild love.
And now your buffets are too rough.
And your sharp kisses on my cheek,
And your fierce clasp and your wild love.
The fool hath said it in his heart
There are no miracles. O Wing
Confute him when you fly apart
Close-felt, beloved, invisible Thing.
There are no miracles. O Wing
Confute him when you fly apart
Close-felt, beloved, invisible Thing.
88
MENACE
Oh, when the land is white as milk
With bloom that lets no leaf between,
When trees are clad in grass-green silk
And thrushes sing in a gold screen:
What is it ails Dark Rosaleen?
With bloom that lets no leaf between,
When trees are clad in grass-green silk
And thrushes sing in a gold screen:
What is it ails Dark Rosaleen?
Why is the banshee in the night
Crying for all the young men gone?
Now when the world with bloom is white,
When the good sun's warm on the stone,
Why does the Woman of Death make moan?
Crying for all the young men gone?
Now when the world with bloom is white,
When the good sun's warm on the stone,
Why does the Woman of Death make moan?
As one who is not comforted,
I heard in every lonely glen
Dark Rosaleen cry for her dead
And for her dying race of men.
Dark Rosaleen, take heart again!
I heard in every lonely glen
Dark Rosaleen cry for her dead
And for her dying race of men.
Dark Rosaleen, take heart again!
89
For, oh, there's God in His high place
And Patrick seated by His side
To judge with Him the Irish race;
And Columcille, Kieran and Bride
Shall not forget before God's Face.
And Patrick seated by His side
To judge with Him the Irish race;
And Columcille, Kieran and Bride
Shall not forget before God's Face.
There's Mary of the Seven Swords,
Queen of the Gael—oh, many a saint,
With Oliver Plunkett to look towards
The Mercy Seat, with praise and plaint,
For Rosaleen, ever the Lord's.
Queen of the Gael—oh, many a saint,
With Oliver Plunkett to look towards
The Mercy Seat, with praise and plaint,
For Rosaleen, ever the Lord's.
Oh, weep no more, Dark Rosaleen!
Menace and terror pass you by.
Oh, loved beyond the sceptred queen,
Dark Rosaleen for whom men die!
And loved till death, Dark Rosaleen.
Menace and terror pass you by.
Oh, loved beyond the sceptred queen,
Dark Rosaleen for whom men die!
And loved till death, Dark Rosaleen.
90
WINGS IN THE NIGHT
Now in the soft spring midnight
There's rush of wings and whirr,
Birds flying softly, swiftly;
The night's a-flutter, a-stir.
There's rush of wings and whirr,
Birds flying softly, swiftly;
The night's a-flutter, a-stir.
Home by the bitter seas,
They have sped home together.
So glad to be coming home
To the grey hills, the grey weather.
They have sped home together.
So glad to be coming home
To the grey hills, the grey weather.
Calling and calling softly
One lights by the window-pane:
The rook, weary with building,
Turns to his sleep again.
One lights by the window-pane:
The rook, weary with building,
Turns to his sleep again.
Ere ever the moor-hens wake
And the wild duck come in,
The birds are about the house
With a long call and thin.
And the wild duck come in,
The birds are about the house
With a long call and thin.
91
They have wakened the wood-pigeon
To make her plaintive moan,
The wood-pigeon lamenting
For sorrows not her own.
To make her plaintive moan,
The wood-pigeon lamenting
For sorrows not her own.
Oh, they are never birds,
But souls of men on the wind,
Seeking the mother's breast,
The heart that is soft and kind.
But souls of men on the wind,
Seeking the mother's breast,
The heart that is soft and kind.
Souls of the Irish dead,
Flown from the fields of slaughter,
Home to the mother's arms
Over the wild grey water.
Flown from the fields of slaughter,
Home to the mother's arms
Over the wild grey water.
92
THE REFUGE
I will lift mine eyes to the mountains,
To the mountains whence cometh my aid;
I shall drink of the Mercy's crystal fountains,
And shall not be afraid.
To the mountains whence cometh my aid;
I shall drink of the Mercy's crystal fountains,
And shall not be afraid.
St. Patrick and St. Bride be with me,
And all the saints of the Gael;
The wings of Heaven above and beneath me,
The dead of Inisfail.
And all the saints of the Gael;
The wings of Heaven above and beneath me,
The dead of Inisfail.
The caves of the mountains shall receive me,
I shall lie as at a mother's breast;
The white food the King of Heaven shall give me,
And the wine of Heaven for feast.
I shall lie as at a mother's breast;
The white food the King of Heaven shall give me,
And the wine of Heaven for feast.
Where the eagle screams over Nephin,
Where the Reek of Patrick looks on the isles,
From the voices of the world that fret and deafen,
From the evil in her smiles,
Where the Reek of Patrick looks on the isles,
From the voices of the world that fret and deafen,
From the evil in her smiles,
93
I shall creep, and the mountains will hold me,
As a lamb that runs with the ewe,
The warmth of the mother shall enfold me,
I shall have milk and dew.
As a lamb that runs with the ewe,
The warmth of the mother shall enfold me,
I shall have milk and dew.
94
EVENING
(In Connaught)
Gold from the edges of the horizon flowing,
A great and golden sea:
The light's spilled out of heaven and flowing, growing
A gold immensity.
A great and golden sea:
The light's spilled out of heaven and flowing, growing
A gold immensity.
The sea-bird now has gotten a golden feather,
Gold are the Hundred Isles,
Gold the white cabin like a cloud at tether
Where the long evening smiles.
Gold are the Hundred Isles,
Gold the white cabin like a cloud at tether
Where the long evening smiles.
The water-bird floats on the golden water,
Golden her wings and crest
As she were Fionnuala, the King's daughter,
Preening a golden breast.
Golden her wings and crest
As she were Fionnuala, the King's daughter,
Preening a golden breast.
The bog-pools now are fringed with golden lances,
The bog-cotton's aflame;
Gold are the mountains that were purple as pansies,
Since the wild heather came.
The bog-cotton's aflame;
Gold are the mountains that were purple as pansies,
Since the wild heather came.
95
Oh, Heaven's o'er-arched with gold, that washing, flooding,
Drenches, with golden rain
The Dark Rose in her splendour, dreaming, brooding,
That she is crowned again.
Drenches, with golden rain
The Dark Rose in her splendour, dreaming, brooding,
That she is crowned again.
96
AFTER ASCENSION
Those twelve years from Ascension
Until the day of meeting broke,
She was not so much all alone
As it might seem to common folk,
Because no day passed without bliss:
He gives Himself back to her kiss.
Until the day of meeting broke,
She was not so much all alone
As it might seem to common folk,
Because no day passed without bliss:
He gives Himself back to her kiss.
He comes no more in human guise,
Yet He is in their midst again.
His wounds are there in all men's eyes,
So doubting Thomas sees them plain;
They pour the Wine and break the Bread,
And the heart's hunger's comforted.
Yet He is in their midst again.
His wounds are there in all men's eyes,
So doubting Thomas sees them plain;
They pour the Wine and break the Bread,
And the heart's hunger's comforted.
The Apostle takes the Cup of Wine,
The white Bread on the paten bright,
O Food of angels dear, divine!
The Lord of Life comes down in light,
And sweeter than the honeycomb
Rests in the heart that was His home.
The white Bread on the paten bright,
O Food of angels dear, divine!
The Lord of Life comes down in light,
And sweeter than the honeycomb
Rests in the heart that was His home.
97
Give place! His Mother's claim is first;
Her arms embrace her Son once more:
On the kind breast where He was nurst
He hath sweet ease as oft before.
Morn after morn, through the twelve years,
His love makes rapture of her tears.
Her arms embrace her Son once more:
On the kind breast where He was nurst
He hath sweet ease as oft before.
Morn after morn, through the twelve years,
His love makes rapture of her tears.
She guards the youngling Church as once
She kept her small Son while He grew,
Safe sheltered from the winds and suns,
Comforted with soft rain and dew;
Till it's full-grown and she is free
For the long bliss that is to be.
She kept her small Son while He grew,
Safe sheltered from the winds and suns,
Comforted with soft rain and dew;
Till it's full-grown and she is free
For the long bliss that is to be.
98
COLOURS
Blues and greens are my delight
Set in garlands of the white.
Set in garlands of the white.
When God made the violet
He made nothing better yet.
He made nothing better yet.
Lilac and the lavender
Fit for queens of Heaven to wear.
Fit for queens of Heaven to wear.
Many russets and the rose,
God be praised for these and those!
God be praised for these and those!
For the silvers and the greys
Likewise ye shall give Him praise.
Likewise ye shall give Him praise.
Scarlet is a King's colour
That the King of Kings once wore.
That the King of Kings once wore.
Yet when everything is said,
Bring me neither rose nor red.
Bring me neither rose nor red.
99
Give me blue and green below,
Apple bloom and cherry snow.
Apple bloom and cherry snow.
Blue forget-me-nots beneath
Pear and plum-bloom in a wreath.
Pear and plum-bloom in a wreath.
Or wild hyacinths in a glade—
Nothing better God has made.
Nothing better God has made.
Blues and greens and a white bough
Turn the earth to Heaven now.
Turn the earth to Heaven now.
100
EPIPHANY
(For Dora, 1918)
She carried frankincense and gold
When the Star guided her,
And in her folded hands so cold
She carried myrrh.
When the Star guided her,
And in her folded hands so cold
She carried myrrh.
Frankincense for the praise she owed,
Gold for her gift was meet,
But myrrh because so oft her road
Was bitter-sweet.
Gold for her gift was meet,
But myrrh because so oft her road
Was bitter-sweet.
Lay her tired body in that earth
Was holy to her mind!
But the bird-soul flies in high mirth,
Borne on the wind.
Was holy to her mind!
But the bird-soul flies in high mirth,
Borne on the wind.
It tosses in the Irish skies
Awhile, so small and white,
Ere it is gone—swiftly it flies
Into the light.
Awhile, so small and white,
Ere it is gone—swiftly it flies
Into the light.
101
She has gone in with the Three Kings,
In silk and miniver;
The gold, the frankincense she brings,
The sharp-sweet myrrh.
In silk and miniver;
The gold, the frankincense she brings,
The sharp-sweet myrrh.
102
THE IMAGE
When a wild grace I see,
A turn o' the neck, a curl, sweet hands, clear eyes,
Gentleness, courtesy, dignity;
In all these gifts Thee I surmise, surprise.
A turn o' the neck, a curl, sweet hands, clear eyes,
Gentleness, courtesy, dignity;
In all these gifts Thee I surmise, surprise.
All beauty and delight.
Skin like a rose, a beauteous shape, an air
Free and enchanting, give my weary sight
Glimpses of Thee, Thou Beauty past compare.
Skin like a rose, a beauteous shape, an air
Free and enchanting, give my weary sight
Glimpses of Thee, Thou Beauty past compare.
Strength, courage also are Thine.
And joy of youth and wings that cleave the blue,
Low singing and soft voices, I divine
In these Thy beauty ancient yet ever new.
And joy of youth and wings that cleave the blue,
Low singing and soft voices, I divine
In these Thy beauty ancient yet ever new.
Oh, when my startled eye
Perceives this beauty league-long, sea and isle
And eagle-crested mountains wild and high,
I catch Thy Maker's thought—I see Thy smile.
Perceives this beauty league-long, sea and isle
And eagle-crested mountains wild and high,
I catch Thy Maker's thought—I see Thy smile.
103
Some mirror out of range
Flashes reflex of Heaven on this sweet earth,
Brooding for ever, beautiful, without change,
The blue-bell sea, the thousand streams' soft mirth.
Flashes reflex of Heaven on this sweet earth,
Brooding for ever, beautiful, without change,
The blue-bell sea, the thousand streams' soft mirth.
All beauty is of Thee.
Kindness and quietness, moon and stars and sun,
Gardens and woods, the bird in the new-fledged tree
And sleep, O Kindest One!
Kindness and quietness, moon and stars and sun,
Gardens and woods, the bird in the new-fledged tree
And sleep, O Kindest One!
104
THE AERODROME
So now the aerodrome goes up
Upon my father's fields,
And gone is all the golden crop
And all the pleasant yields.
Upon my father's fields,
And gone is all the golden crop
And all the pleasant yields.
They tear the trees up, branch and root,
They kill the hedges green,
As though some force, malign and brute,
Ravaged the peace serene.
They kill the hedges green,
As though some force, malign and brute,
Ravaged the peace serene.
There where he used to sit and gaze
With blue and quiet eyes,
Watching his comely cattle graze,
The walls begin to rise.
With blue and quiet eyes,
Watching his comely cattle graze,
The walls begin to rise.
What place for robin or for wren,
For thrush and blackbird's call?
Now there shall be but flying men
Nor any bird at all.
For thrush and blackbird's call?
Now there shall be but flying men
Nor any bird at all.
105
'Twas well he did not stay to know,
Defaced and all defiled
The quiet fields of long ago,
Dear to him as a child.
Defaced and all defiled
The quiet fields of long ago,
Dear to him as a child.
But when the tale was told to me
I felt such piercing pain,
They tore my heart up with the tree
That will not leaf again.
I felt such piercing pain,
They tore my heart up with the tree
That will not leaf again.
106
A SONG OF GOING
I would not like to live to be very old,
To be stripped cold and bare
Of all my leafage that was green and gold
In the delicious air.
To be stripped cold and bare
Of all my leafage that was green and gold
In the delicious air.
I would not choose to live to be left alone,
The children gone away,
And the true love that I have leant upon
No more my staff and stay.
The children gone away,
And the true love that I have leant upon
No more my staff and stay.
I would not live to stretch my shrivelled hands
To an old fire died low,
Minding me of the long-lost happy lands
And children long ago.
To an old fire died low,
Minding me of the long-lost happy lands
And children long ago.
Let me be gone while I am leafy yet
And while my birds still sing,
Lest leafless, birdless, my dull heart forget
That ever it had Spring.
And while my birds still sing,
Lest leafless, birdless, my dull heart forget
That ever it had Spring.
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