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LONDON · ELKIN MATHEWS VIGO STREET · W · MDCCCCIII
MONGAN LAMENTS THE CHANGE THAT HAS COME UPON HIM AND HIS BELOVED 22
MICHAEL ROBARTES BIDS HIS BELOVED BE AT PEACE 24
MICHAEL ROBARTES REMEMBERS FORGOTTEN BEAUTY 27
MICHAEL ROBARTES ASKS FORGIVENESS BECAUSE OF HIS MANY MOODS 37
AEDH THINKS OF THOSE WHO HAVE SPOKEN EVIL OF HIS BELOVED 44
HANRAHAN LAMENTS BECAUSE OF HIS WANDERINGS 51
THE POET PLEADS WITH HIS FRIEND FOR OLD FRIENDS 54
HANRAHAN SPEAKS TO THE LOVERS OF HIS SONGS IN COMING DAYS 55
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling _Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart_. The host is rushing 'twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling _Away, come away_.
O sweet everlasting Voices be still; Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will Flame under flame, till Time be no more; Have you not heard that our hearts are old, That you call in birds, in wind on the hill, In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore? O sweet everlasting Voices be still.
Time drops in decay, Like a candle burnt out, And the mountains and woods Have their day, have their day; What one in the rout Of the fire-born moods, Has fallen away?
All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old, The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart, The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould, Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.
The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told; I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart, With the earth and the sky and the water, remade, like a casket of gold For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.