AN IRISH SONG

Over me lifts the peat-reek That parts and drifts and veers, And the wind’s uneasy moaning Is loud about mine ears. The waves upon the shingle They murmur drearily, And the streamers of the fog-wraith Drive in from the open sea. The mist hangs over the passes, The mist hangs over the moors, And the eerie cry of the curlew It quavers and endures. And it all is lonely, lonely, And there ’s sorrow on every face, But the heart of me needs must love it, For the land is mine own place!