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78 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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The world hath tortured—yet immense our gain
To find enduring peace around us twain,
I, weary of my wanderings, you of your disdain. |
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SHIELA-NI-GARA
SHIELA-NI-GARA,1 it is lonesome where you bide, With the plovers circling over and the sagans spreading wide, With an empty sea before you and behind a wailing
world, Where the sword lieth rusty and the Banner Blue is furled.
Is it a sail you wait, Shiela ? "rea, from the Westering sun.
Shall it bring joy or sorrow ? Oh, joy sadly won.
Shall it bring peace or conflict ? The pibroch in the glen
And the flash and crash of battle round a host of fighting men.
Green spears of Hope rise round you like grass blades
after drouth, And there blows a white wind from the East, a red
wind from the South, A brown wind from the West, Agra, a brown wind
from the West — But the black, black wind from the Northern hills,
how can you love it best ? |
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1 Shiela-ni- Cara, one of the allegorical names of Ireland. |
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