Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, GRAINNE: AFTER THE DEATH OF DIARMUID, by CATHAL O'BYRNE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

GRAINNE: AFTER THE DEATH OF DIARMUID, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Forth from the twilight of a wood she came
Last Line: Deep in the inmost core of her lone heart.
Subject(s): Legends, Irish; Love - Loss Of


FORTH from the twilight of a wood she came,
Where blossoming isles of purple harebells gleamed,
Set in a shimmering, sunflecked sea of green.
Fair was her face as the deep rose of the dawn,
And lithe her form as the lake grasses tall,
That whispered of her beauty to the breeze.
Tear-stained her cheeks -- rock roses washed with spray,
Great haunting memories dwelt of happier days
Deep in the shadowy depths of her sad eyes.
Her hair flowed down, a gleaming golden wave,
O'er snowy fold and fold of her white robe.
Like sun-kissed water on a silver strand,
Its ripples streaming on a soft west wind,
Were mirrored in the wide, weed-laden lake
Where she passed by. The silent, sleepy birds,
Thinking the sun had backward from the west
Turned in his course, and with his shafts of gold
Had stabbed the heart of the dim, silent pool,
Burst into music, and a shower of song
Fell through the leaves to greet this new day-star.
Twin dew-wet quickenberries were her lips, one word
Came through their rosy portals, 'Diarmuid.'
It rang adown the dusky, flower-strewn glades,
Through aisles of forest trees, of mighty oaks,
Of quivering aspen, and of silver larch,
And stately giant pines, and hazel groves;
The melody of murmuring waters caught the sound,
And chaunted 'Diarmuid' to the mossy stones.
Down to the depths of the calm woods it sank,
And up through arching green to the broad sky,
Through traceries of bronze and blue above,
And far beneath of glimmering gold and green,
The nightingale caught up the new, sweet sound,
And for an instant held it in her throat,
Then flung it on the silence of her bower,
Where as it fell it burst in silver rain,
And scattered to the winds its sparks of song.
The myriad songsters caught the glittering drops,
And flying with the gems throughout the wood,
Sang 'Diarmuid' in silver syllables, till the notes,
Forming one grand, sweet chord, went echoing
Through the vast aisles and gold-green garden ways,
And all the wood rang sweet with 'Diarmuid.'
Until the hills in pity sent the name
Back to the forest fringe whereat she stood.
And it at length found its true resting-place
Deep in the inmost core of her lone heart.





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