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Classic and Contemporary Poetry
PARNELL, by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON Poem Explanation Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: The wail of irish winds | |||
The wail of Irish winds, The wail of Irish winds, The cry of Irish seas: The cry of Irish seas: Eternal sorrow finds Eternal sorrow finds Eternal voice in these. Eternal voice in these. I cannot praise our dead, Whom Ireland weeps so well: I cannot praise our dead, Her morning light, that fled; Her morning star, that fell. Whom Ireland weeps so well: She of the mournful eyes Her morning light, that fled; Waits, and no dark clouds break: Her morning star, that fell. Waits, and her strong son lies Dead, for her holy sake. She of the mournful eyes Her heart is sorrow's home. And hath been from of old: Waits, and no dark clouds break: An host of griefs hath come, Waits, and her strong son lies To make that heart their fold. Dead, for her holy sake. Ah, the sad autumn day, When the last sad troop came Her heart is sorrow's home, Swift down the ancient way, Keening a chieftain's name! And hath been from of old: An host of griefs hath come, Gray hope was there, and dread; To make that heart their fold. Anger, and love in tears: They mourned the dear and dead, Dirge of the ruined years. Ah, the sad autumn day, Home to her heart she drew The mourning company: When the last sad troop came Old sorrows met the new, Swift down the ancient way, Keening a chieftain's name! In sad fraternity. A mother, and forget? Nay! all her children's fate Ireland remembers yet, Gray hope was there, and dread; With love insatiate. Anger, and love in tears: She hears the heavy bells: They mourned the dear and dead, Hears, and with passionate breath Dirge of the ruined years. Eternally she tells A rosary of death. Home to her heart she drew Faithful and true is she, The mourning company: The mother of us all: Faithful and true! may we Old sorrows met the new, Fail her not, though we fall. In sad fraternity. Her son, our brother, lies Dead, for her holy sake: But from the dead arise A mother, and forget? Voices, that bid us wake. Nay! all her children's fate Ireland remembers yet, Not his, to hail the dawn: With love insatiate. His but the herald's part. Be ours to see withdrawn Night from our mother's heart. She hears the heavy bells: Hears, and with passionate breath Eternally she tells A rosary of death. Faithful and true is she, The mother of us all: Faithful and true! may we Fail her not, though we fall. Her son, our brother, lies Dead, for her holy sake: But from the dead arise Voices, that bid us wake. Not his, to hail the dawn: His but the herald's part. Be ours to see withdrawn Night from our Mother's heart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest... |
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