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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
IRELAND - 1915, by BRUCE PORTER
First Line: I could not sleep the night
Last Line: You are grown old with dreaming.
Subject(s): Dreams; Ireland; Nightmares; Irish
First Line: I could not sleep the night
Last Line: You are grown old with dreaming.
Subject(s): Dreams; Ireland; Nightmares; Irish
I could not sleep the night
Thinking of Ireland.
Ever her pain, her wrongs,
Her sad unconquerable hope,
Call on my heart,
And will not let me sleep....
Dream the long dream,
The beautiful sad dream—
Little Mother, little Mother,
With the wan smile, the tears:
You have grown old with dreaming.
Ever amongst the hills,
By the wild coasts,
With the wan smile, the pain:
Always your tremulous singing.
Ah! if they knew—
If the cold stranger knew,
The heart-break beneath the smile,
The anguish in all the singing!
Dream the long dream,
The beautiful sad dream—
Little Mother, little Mother,
Forlorn, with the undying hope,
You are grown old with dreaming.
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