These are white as the harvest moon,
Roses flush like the heart of June;
But my shamrock brave and gay,
Glads the tired eyes every day.
O the red rose shineth rare,
And the lily saintly fair;
But my shamrock, one in three,
Takes the inmost heart of me!
Katharine Tynan Hinkson.
JOHNSON
CLXXXIX
WAYS OF WAR
A terrible and splendid trust
Heartens the host of Inisfail:
Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust,
A lighting glory of the Gael.
Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers,
And Tara the assembling place:
But each sweet wind of Ireland bears
The trump of battle on its race.
From Dursey Isle to Donegal,
From Howth to Achill, the glad noise
Rings: and the heirs of glory fall,
Or victory crowns their fighting joys.