Sunday, November 12, 2006

looking through

"A New Anthology of Modern Poetry." (copyright 1938... yeah that kind of modern) Really love this poem.

I am of Ireland
W.B. Yeats

"I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on," cried she.
"Come out of charity,
Come dance with me in Ireland."

One man, one man alone
In that outlandish gear,
One solitary man
Of all that rambled there
Had turned his stately head.
"That is a long way off,
And time runs on," he said,
"And the night grows rough."

"I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on," cried she.
Come our of charity
And dance with me in Ireland."

"The fiddlers are all thumbs,
Or the fiddle-strings accursed,
The drums and kettle-drums
And the trumpets all are burst,
And the trombone," cried he,
"The trumpet and trombone,"
And cocked a malicious eye,
"But time runs on, runs on."

"I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on," cried she.
"Come out of charity,
Come dance with me in Ireland."



For some reason this poem really hit me today. I absolutely love it. :)

2 comments:

carmela said...

did you have fun last night? our birthday friend was pretty, uh.. happy. and loud. very loud.

SaraMonet' said...

lol. good deal. loudness is good... to an extent. too loud for you?