A warbler will be tossin’ you a tune.
An’ you can look to seaward through the gray-green gulf o’ wonder
An’ watch the slantin’ sails a-dippin’ far,
An’ you can mark about you how the rocks are rent asunder,
An’ the heights are mountin’ up to reach the star.
[p 59]
]But it ’s not the sea below it, nor the craggy crests above it,
Nor the bracken with the mosses soft between,
Nor the droopin’ bells o’ heather, nay, it ’s not for these I love it,
That wanderin’, that windin’ “bohareen!”
But a thought that keeps a-chimin’ in my heart like tender rhymin’