THIS is thy day, thy day of all the years. Ireland! The night of anger and mute gloom, Where thou didst sit, has vanished with thy tears. Thou shalt no longer weep in thy lone home The dead they slew for thee, or nurse thy doom, Or fan the smoking flax of thy desire Their hatred could not quench. Thy hour is come; And these, if they would reap, must reap in fire. —What shall thy vengeance be? In that long night Thou hast essayed thy wrath in many ways, Slaughter and havoc and Hell's deathless spite. They taught thee vengeance who thus schooled thy days, Taught all they knew, but not this one divine Vengeance, to love them. Be that vengeance thine! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE FRINGED GENTIAN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT SONNET: FOR INSPIRATION by MICHELANGELO BUONARROTI O, BREATHE NOT HIS NAME! by THOMAS MOORE EPISTLE TO MISS TERESA BLOUNT, ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN by ALEXANDER POPE IKE WALTON'S PRAYER by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY AUBADE [OR, A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN], FR. CYMBELINE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 104 by ALFRED TENNYSON TIPPERARY: 3. AS THE INTERLINEARS MIGHT TAKE IT FROM XENOPHON by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS |