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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 253 |
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Yea, so blessed and good seems that fountain, Reached after dry desert and mountain,
You shall fall down at length in your weeping
And bathe your sad face in the tears.
Then, alas ! while you lie there a season,
And sob between living and dying,
And give up the land you were trying To find mid your hopes and your fears;
—O the world shall come up and pass o'er you;
Strong men shall not stay to care for you, Nor wonder indeed for what reason Your way should seem harder than theirs. |
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But perhaps, while you lie, never lifting Your cheek from the wet leaves it presses, Nor caring to raise your wet tresses
And look how the cold world appears,— O perhaps the mere silences round you — All things in that place grief hath found you,
Yea, e'en to the clouds o'er you drifting,
May soothe you somewhat through your tears.
You may feel, when a falling leaf brushes
Your face, as though some one had kissed you; Or think at least some one who missed you
Hath sent you a thought,—if that cheers ; Or a bird's little song, faint and broken, May pass for a tender word spoken:
—Enough, while around you there rushes
That life-drowning torrent of tears. |
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