Who once has heard the gentle Irish rain
Murmur low music in the growing leaves,
Though he were god, comes back to earth again.
Oh Earth! green wind-swept Eirinn, I would break
The tower of my soul's initiate pride
For a grey field and a star-haunted lake,
And those wet winds that roam the country side.
I who have seen am glad to close my eyes,
I who have soared am weary of my wings,
I seek no more the secret of the wise,