Against his foolish innocence
No man alive can stand,
Nor any giant drive him hence
With sling or club or brand—
For where his angry bugle blows
There fall unconquerable foes;
Of mighty men of war none knows
To stay his witless hand.
All legendary wars grow tame
And every tale gives place
Before the knight’s unsullied name
And his romantic face:
Yea, he shall break the stoutest bars
And bear his courage and his scars
Beyond the whirling moons and stars
And all the suns of space!
IRELAND
BESIDE your bitter waters rise
The Mystic Rose, the Holy Tree,
Immortal courage in your eyes,
And pain and liberty.
The stricken arms, the cloven shields,
The trampled plumes, the shattered drum,
The swords of your lost battlefields
To hopeless battles come.
And though your scattered remnants know
Their shameful rout, their fallen kings,
Yet shall the strong, victorious foe
Not understand these things:
The broken ranks that never break,
The merry road your rabble trod,
The awful laughter they shall take
Before the throne of God.