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Beautiful Irish Poem

Song

by Thomas Moore
the greatest Irish lyrist
born Dublin, 1779 - died 1852
Have you not seen the timid tear
Steal trembling from mine eye?
Have you not mark'd the flush of fear,
Or caught the murmur'd sigh?
And can you think my love is chill,
Nor fix'd on you alone?
And can you rend, by doubting still,
A heart so much your own?

To you my soul's affections move
Devoutly, warmly, true:
My life has been a task of love,
One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith is o'er,
If still my truth you'll try;
Alas! I know but one proof more -
I'll bless your name, and die!

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Permalink Reply by Dabhoch on March 4, 2008 at 15:17

Lisa, methinks ye have "an old soul", for loving poetry the way you so obviously do..!! Here is one of my favorites...

Never Give All the Heart

W. B. Yeats

Never give all the heart, for love
Will hardly seem worth thinking of
To passionate women if it seem
Certain, and they never dream
That it fades out from kiss to kiss;
For everything that's lovely is
But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.
O never give the heart outright,
For they, for all smooth lips can say,
Have given their hearts up to the play.
And who could play it well enough
If deaf and dumb and blind with love?
He that made this knows all the cost,
For he gave all his heart and lost.

Slán go fhoill, mo chara..!!

Dabh

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Permalink Reply by erin o'connor on March 4, 2008 at 15:30

Dabh....you are for certain al ole softie...This poem for me is a favourite...I recall my Granny reading it to me years ago........She told me one Erin there are 2 most importnat things in life....#1 is LOve and #2 is your next breath , nothing else matters..She was a wise ole soould like yourself.

Do I ache for love? what a beauitful poem...so simply and true..........Beannacht de leat....Erin

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Permalink Reply by Lisa on March 4, 2008 at 17:58

Dabh...You are an ole softie...I do love poetry so much. There is so much meaning and depth. I don't think people reach far enough inside to actually bring out all they can to express themselves. I am trying to do that...I've been inspired lately to start writing my own poetry again. I hope to post some soon. Thank you for sharing. It's been awhile since we have chatted...need to catch up. So many new faces around here....seems us that the "regs" are in hiding. Glad to have brought you out...LOL

Slán go fhoill

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 4, 2008 at 18:24

Lisa

We lovers of the metered (and unmetered) word owe you much for having started this discussion.

I've been posting Yeats prolifically. Yet there is sort of a new Yates (tho Walter may not agree).

Here is a poem by Seamus Heaney -- still writing (and walt, he's a Northman like you, I believe).

This is especially in tribute to those two great Bogmen, Pat and Greg.

Enjoy.

We have no prairies
To slice a big sun at evening--
Everywhere the eye concedes to
Encrouching horizon,

Is wooed into the cyclops' eye
Of a tarn. Our unfenced country
Is bog that keeps crusting
Between the sights of the sun.

They've taken the skeleton
Of the Great Irish Elk
Out of the peat, set it up
An astounding crate full of air.

Butter sunk under
More than a hundred years
Was recovered salty and white.
The ground itself is kind, black butter

Melting and opening underfoot,
Missing its last definition
By millions of years.
They'll never dig coal here,

Only the waterlogged trunks
Of great firs, soft as pulp.
Our pioneers keep striking
Inwards and downwards,

Every layer they strip
Seems camped on before.
The bogholes might be Atlantic seepage.
The wet centre is bottomless.

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 4, 2008 at 19:33

You are most welcome. Isn't life beautiful, if you search beauty that is always everywhere.

Slan agat!

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Permalink Reply by Dabhoch on March 4, 2008 at 19:51

..and if you listen to LiveIreland channel one, you may hear that one recited by Seamus himself - the title of the poem is "Bogland" - http://www.ibiblio.org/ipa/poems/heaney/bogland.php

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Permalink Reply by Lisa on March 5, 2008 at 13:53

I have to agree with you. If you search...you can find.

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 5, 2008 at 18:27

Deragon

This is one of those "essential" Irish poems about what it means to be Irish, to possess the freedom of being irish, to connect to all that is Celtic and Irish. It also speaks to humanity's need for "home", for belonging, for touching the face of nature, or, as I would prefer to say, living before the Face of God. See how the speaker of the poem almost makes heaven out of Innisfree and all the beauty that abounds there. And he finished the message by telling the listener that even within the modernity and confines of the city (pavements grey) Innisfree's natural beauty wells up from his very heart, calling him "home."

I love the traditional song, not madefrom this poem, but speaking of going home to Innisfree. Thanks for recalling this to all of us.

Your friend in St. Louis
Frank Daub

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Permalink Reply by Dabhoch on March 5, 2008 at 19:29

Ah - The Isle of Innisfree - the song captivated me from the first I heard it, with its plaintive, haunting, longing melody -

I've met some folks who say that I'm a dreamer,
And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say,
But sure a body's bound to be a dreamer
When all the things he loves are far away.

And precious things are dreams unto an exile.
They take him o'er the land across the sea --
Especially when it happens he's an exile
From that dear lovely Isle of Inisfree.

And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops
Of this great city, wondrous though it be,
I scarcely feel its wonder or its laughter.
I'm once again back home in Inisfree.

I wander o'er green hills through dreamy valleys
And find a peace no other land could know.
I hear the birds make music fit for angels
And watch the rivers laughing as they flow.

And then into a humble shack I wander --
My dear old home -- and tenderly behold
The folks I love around the turf fire gathered.
On bended knees, their rosary is told.

But dreams don't last --
Though dreams are not forgotten --
And soon I'm back to stern reality.
But though they pave the footways here with gold dust,
I still would choose the Isle of Inisfree.

- Dick Farrelly

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 5, 2008 at 19:42

Frank,

I take it upon myself to hereby ‘daub’ you ‘Keeper of the Verse’ for LI is truly fortunate to have your erudite insights on matters of the written word. Now, who am I to contend Seamus Heaney? Yes he is a ‘Northman’ . . . from Derry I believe. A Poet Laureate to boot! However, call me traditional if you must . . . but I am still partial to the ‘old Yeats’. But isn’t that the appeal of poetry. In each voicing of the words we can find our own truth, beauty, tragedy, hope . . . that which speaks to us intimately. Which brings me to my own poem? I offer it in all humility. I wrote this poem in 1992 some years before the signing of the N.I. Peace Agreement on April 10, 1998. I was on a visit home to Belfast, from Canada, and was once again made acutely aware of the continuing divide between N.I.’s two political traditions. Having lived through the violent times of N.I.’s ‘Troubles’ in the late 60s and 70s I was no stranger to the events which impacted the lives of all that lived there. However, with the continued positive evolution of the historic ‘Good Friday Agreement’ we are now moving (however slowly ) towards that future ‘someday’ when my ‘cry for help’, as expressed below, will become (hopefully) but a postscript in the annals of the Irish experience.

Oh! Hear My Prayer St. Patrick. (A poem by Walter Magill © Copyright 1992)

Oh! Hear my prayer St. Patrick
From this your Erin’s Isle
Your people all are fighting
Their hearts are filled with vile
Their blood is on your green fields
Your towns and cities fair
Your children all are crying
Their future’s in despair.

Oh! Hear My Prayer St. Patrick
To you I humbly plead
Grant peace to all your people
To each their God and creed
To each bestow your blessing
And give your shamrock green
And touch their hearts with loving
A place they’ve never been.

Oh! Hear My Prayer St. Patrick
Before I’m laid to rest
To walk the streets of Ireland
My shamrock on my breast
My hand to hold with strangers
To walk with friend and foe
To seal the path of friendship
Myself with them will go.

Oh! Hear My Prayer St. Patrick
From this your Erin’s Isle
The darkness is upon us
We need your loving smile
We need your Staff of Comfort
Your peace for all to see
Your Christian hands of blessing
We need your TRINITY!

Walter . . .

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Permalink Reply by Frank Daub on March 5, 2008 at 21:19

Some respond with a remark. A poet responds with his art and his heart. This is so reminiscent of the longing words of so many grand Irish poets.

Very "sweet" (read WELL DONE) in terms of its craftsmanship. Truly, I'd like to read more of your work, especially across a range of themes and subjects -- love, faith, work, women, drink and craic -- the things an Irish poet would capture.

In 2016 Ireland will celebrate the Rising (I hope). Let's try to work on a piece that would be worthy of the men and women of those times. Wouldn't that be a great challenge?

We'll do it at the Dubliner, over a good pipe of tobacco and the Black Stuff.

Adios, Rennaisance Rider.

Frank in St. Louis

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Permalink Reply by Walter on March 6, 2008 at 0:35

‘Wee Davy’

This is not a poem but a poignant piece written by the late James Young (a Belfast actor/comedian) who in the trying times of N.I.’s ongoing religious strife gave us pause to look at ourselves. Although the topic deals with religious intolerance it is not without its universal appeal for intolerance knows no boundaries. I recorded this in memory of James and to remind myself of ‘the distance yet to go’. Now you get to hear me talk!

Walter . . .

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