Old Ireland

<SPAN name="startofbook"></SPAN> <h2>Old Ireland</h2> <p>Far hence amid an isle of wondrous beauty,<br/> Crouching over a grave an ancient sorrowful mother,<br/> Once a queen, now lean and tatter'd seated on the ground,<br/> Her old white hair drooping dishevel'd round her shoulders,<br/> At her feet fallen an unused royal harp,<br/> Long silent, she too long silent, mourning her shrouded hope and heir,<br/> Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow because most full of love.<br/> <br/> Yet a word ancient mother,<br/> You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground with forehead<br/> between your knees,<br/> O you need not sit there veil'd in your old white hair so dishevel'd,<br/> For know you the one you mourn is not in that grave,<br/> It was an illusion, the son you love was not really dead,<br/> The Lord is not dead, he is risen again young and strong in another country,<br/> Even while you wept there by your fallen harp by the grave,<br/> What you wept for was translated, pass'd from the grave,<br/> The winds favor'd and the sea sail'd it,<br/> And now with rosy and new blood,<br/> Moves to-day in a new country.<br/></p> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />