Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HERITAGE, by MARIE BLAKE



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HERITAGE, by            
First Line: Why should the mountains confuse me with rapture?
Last Line: The green hills of ireland call me again!
Subject(s): Ireland; Irish


Why should the mountains confuse me with rapture?
Storm at my heart till I see them through tears?
Weigh me with wistfulness past all the telling?
Sound the high bugles my errant soul hears?
Is it the magic of other hills calling,
The hills of my fathers, across the long years?
Child of a race that knew stretching horizons,
Far-climbing headlands all misty with rain,
Slopes of soft emerald starred thick with primrose,
Vista and vision: half beauty, half pain --
Here's why the mountains confuse me with rapture:
The green hills of Ireland call me again!





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