II
Where shall we find thee? In the avarice
That robs our brave adventures? In the shame
Spoiling our splendours? In the sacrifice
Of tears we wrung from Ireland? Nay, thy name
Is written secretly in kindliness
Upon the patient faces of the poor,
In that good anger wherewith thou didst bless
Our hearts, when beat upon the shaking door
Strong hands of hell.... Whether before the flood
We sink, or out of agonies reborn
Learn once again the meaning of our blood,
Laughter and liberty—a sacred scorn
Is ours irrevocably since we stood
And heard the barbarians’ guns across the morn.
LYRIC LOVE
WHEN kindly years have given me grace
To read your spirit through;
To see the starlight on your face,
Upon your hair the dew;
To touch the fingers of your hands,
The shining wealth they hold;
To find in dim and dreamy lands
That tender dusks enfold
The ancient sorrows that were sealed,
The hidden wells of joy,
The secrets that were unrevealed
To one who was a boy.
Then to my patient ponderings
Will fruits of solace fall,
When I have learned through many Springs,
Mighty and mystical,
To hear through sounds of brooks and birds
Love in the leafy grove,
As in my lyric heart your words
Bestir a lyric love.
Then I shall brood, grown good and wise,
The truth of fairy tales,
And greet romance with gay surprise
In woods of nightingales.