DEAD is Columba: the world's arch Gleams with a lighting of strange fires, They flash and run, they leap and march, Signs of a Saint's fulfilled desires. Live is Columba: golden crowned, Sceptred with Mary lilies, shod With angel flames, and girded round With white of snow, he goes to God. No more the grey eyes long to see The oakwoods of their Inisfail; Where the white angels hovering be: And ah, the birds in every vale! No more for him thy fierce winds blow, Iona of the angry sea! Gone, the white glories of thy snow, And white spray flying over thee! Now, far from the grey sea, and far From sea-worn rocks and sea-birds' cries, Columba hails the morning star, That shines in never nighted skies. High in the perfect Land of Morn, He listens to the chaunting air: The Land, where music is not born, For music is eternal there. There, bent before the burning Throne, He lauds the lover of the Gael: Sweet Christ! whom Patrick's children own: Glory be Thine from Inisfail! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VOICE OF THE GRASS by SARAH ROBERTS BOYLE RECOLLECTIONS OF SOLITUDE; AN ELEGY by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES MORNING SOUNDS by RUTH LEONARD BUCHE THE HEAVENLY BREEZE by GEORGE BURGESS LYRIC AND EPIC by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON REMONSTRATION by CAROLINE CUTTINO CORBIN PINDARIC ODE: THE MUSE by ABRAHAM COWLEY |