Seumas O’Sullivan
Reading edition
MY SORROW
My sorrow that I am not by the little dun,
By the lake of the starlings at Rosses under the hill—
And the larks there, singing over the fields of dew,
Or evening there, and the sedges still!
For plain I see now the length of the yellow sand,
And Lissadell far off and its leafy ways,
And the holy mountain whose mighty heart
Gathers into it all the colored days.
My sorrow that I am not by the little dun,
By the lake of the starlings at evening when all is still—
And still in whispering sedges the herons stand.
’Tis there I would nestle at rest till the quivering moon
Uprose in the golden quiet over the hill.
SPLENDID AND TERRIBLE
Splendid and terrible your love.
The searing pinions of its flight
Flamed but a moment’s space above
The place where ancient memories keep
Their quiet; and the dreaming deep
Moved inly with a troubled light,
And that old passion woke and stirred
Out of its sleep.
Splendid and terrible your love.
I hold it to me like a flame;
I hold it like a flame above
The empty anguish of my breast.
253There let it stay, there let it rest—
Deep in the heart whereto it came
Of old as some wind-wearied bird
Drops to its nest.
THE OTHERS
From our hidden places,
By a secret path,
We come in the moonlight
To the side of the green rath.
There the night through
We take our pleasure,
Dancing to such a measure
As earth never knew.
To dance and lilt
And song without a name,
So sweetly chanted
’Twould put a bird to shame.
And many a maiden
Is there, of mortal birth,
Her young eyes laden
With dreams of earth.
Music so piercing wild
And forest-sweet would bring
Silence on blackbirds singing
Their best in the ear of spring.
And many a youth entrancèd
Moves slow in the dreamy round,
His brave lost feet enchanted
With the rhythm of faery sound.
254Oh, many a thrush and blackbird
Would fall to the dewy ground,
And pine away in silence
For envy of such a sound.
So the night through,
In our sad pleasure,
We dance to many a measure
That earth never knew.