Ireland

I am going now
To wander where
The wild flowers grow
And gulls object to
Poacher’s lines.
I’ll stand upon a
Western rock and
And cast from spinning reel
Into the wild Atlantic's’
Mountainous Spray
And toast with salty lips
That land that I
Have loved and longed
To feel once more
Beneath my feet.

To look out on the islands,
Where myths were bred
And legends born
That wore heroes’ robes,
They travelled through
The centuries unscathed;
Alive in faithful tongues
Venturing out
At nightfall
Round a thousand
Turf banked fires
Or under starry blanket
Of late summer’s eve;
The days’ work done -
And easy to believe.

I’ll make way back,
Through fields
Of meadow grass
From where the lark
Will rise and sing
Too heaven; or from?
It’s not for me
To say!
Soon enough I’ll
Find the truth,
And price of
Sinners’ pay.
When mortal flesh
Sets spirit free, pray
Let it wander here.