liveIreland

Irish Internet Radio and TV from Dublin, Ireland.

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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I really enjoyed this poem and shared it with my daughter--manythanks for sharing.
This is so sad and poignant.


Deragon Pierre said:
This one from Egan O Rahilly.......1700 a well educated scribe and poet,was forced to leave his native country Kerry and live in poor
conditions some twentymiles west.this poem reflects the agony of his disposession by the oppressors.

Without flocks or cattle or the curved horns
Of cattle, in drenching night without sleep
My five wits on the famous uproar
Of the wave toss like ships
And I cry for boyhood,long before
Winkle and dogfish had defiled my lips.

O if he lived, the prince who sheltered me
And his company who gave me entry
On the river of the Laune,
Whose royalty stood sentry
Over intricate harbors,I and my own
Would not be desolate in Dermot`s country.

Fierce McCarthy Mor whose friends were welcome,
McCarthy of the Lee a slave of late,
McCarthy of Kenturk whose blood
Has dried underfoot:
Of all my princes not a single word-
Irrevocable silence ails my heart.

My heart shrinks in me ,my heart ails
That every hawk and royal hawk is lost;
From Cashel to the far sea
Their birthright is dispersed
Far and near,night and day,by robbery
And ransack,every town oppressed.

Take warning,wave,take warning,crown of the sea
I, O,Rahilly-witless from your discords-
Were Spanish sails again afloat
And rescue on our tides,
Would force this outcry down your wild throat,
Would make you swallow these Atlantic words.
Man of the North

My thoughts opened a door this morning and there you were, standing with poem in hand. So -- I rushed to this discussion to see did we really connect in the mystical realm of poetry? And there it was . . . The Picture That Is You.

Power is always concentrated! Just so this exquisite piece. The hand of the poet is in the story, touching the face of his love, saying what every woman loved would want to hear. I enjoy and celebrate this poem. It induced me to share a piece that I wrote many years ago, when my wife and I had our first child. I was getting ready to go to Vietnam, we had two weeks before we would be separated and I was cherishing every moment with Mary Ann.

New Born
By Frank Daub (1969)

Putting up the wash again
one wooden clothes pin gripped
tightly in her lips, my Mary Ann,
on toe tips,
blond hair wind whipped
dangling in her eyes,
the sun an apricot surprise
on the back of her legs.
All busy hanging clothes
and watching in the yard
to see the baby lulling in the doze
of May.
My perennial loving Guard.
Frank,

The return of the ‘Master’ . . . so happy to see you back. As always your comments continue to be a source of inspiration whether to myself or others. I too enjoyed your poem immensely and can only speculate as to the array of emotions you were experiencing at this critical moment in your life. As a sequel to your poem – your story of Vietnam would make a fascinating blog. The perspective of Mary Ann would be an interesting adjunct . . . there on ‘toe tips’ with a new born baby ‘lulling in the doze of May’ - a common place scene that belies the uncertainty and significance of the impending future.

Great to hear from you Frank . . . Walter
Thank oyu fo rsharing--such a beautiful poem.

My Child
Felicia M. Maisey 2008

My Child, my child
so grown are thee ...
and yet surrounded
by your new kin, you seem so utterly alone
My Child, my child,
sweet of face; so handsome they say
My Child, my child
a man to the eyes of others,
But not to me my son.
I still see your swollen cheeks,
tears streaming
as new teeth filled your head
Sugar plumbs and Santa at Christmas…
our special stories, repeated over and over
and over once read again
MyChild, my child
I miss hearing your voice.
But things will never be
what they always seemed to me.
Your wife, a stranger
not a daughter to believe.
Your son, an extension of you,
But a child, since his birth
I have barely been invited to see.
My Child, my child
You are deep encased
in my heart and within my tears.
MyChild, my child
you can never know the wounds you caused
when you ran into the home and arms of strangers.
My Child, my child
my daughters bear the grief,
lucky for me
For without their daily hugs and kisses three,
my heart would crack and bleed the streets .
My Child, my child
I no longer make room
for calls that do not come, and visits that do not need arranging.
I remember when
my first born, they said was a fine young son.
I recall with wonder how society
told you to take care of me and the beautiful three;
But it was I who said to you, take care of you
my dear sweet child.
I tell you now, just as I did then
Take care of you
a special memory
to me you are now,
Like pirate’s treasure misplaced
even if returned, never the same lackluster shine
could ever be revealed.
No worries-no use crying foul;
When one of us paases
one body to another--
This life lost
and a new one started…
I will still know you,
think fondly and say
That was once MY CHILD, my child
my sweet faced Wednesday child...a son, once a man
Now my treasured memories
Safe within the heart of death.

Frank Daub said:
Man of the North

My thoughts opened a door this morning and there you were, standing with poem in hand. So -- I rushed to this discussion to see did we really connect in the mystical realm of poetry? And there it was . . . The Picture That Is You.

Power is always concentrated! Just so this exquisite piece. The hand of the poet is in the story, touching the face of his love, saying what every woman loved would want to hear. I enjoy and celebrate this poem. It induced me to share a piece that I wrote many years ago, when my wife and I had our first child. I was getting ready to go to Vietnam, we had two weeks before we would be separated and I was cherishing every moment with Mary Ann.

New Born
By Frank Daub (1969)

Putting up the wash again
one wooden clothes pin gripped
tightly in her lips, my Mary Ann,
on toe tips,
blond hair wind whipped
dangling in her eyes,
the sun an apricot surprise
on the back of her legs.
All busy hanging clothes
and watching in the yard
to see the baby lulling in the doze
of May.
My perennial loving Guard.
Thank oyu so much.
Deragon Pierre said:
Dia dhuit a Felicia,

Poem like yours make someones analize
the miss of their life sometimes to short
And not understanding the importance of it,
Mother`s love for child,is a need,
So is water to a tree,and sun to nature,
Poem description is exquisite Felicia,
Taking time to appreciate,child and life,
And miss all the love that`s passing by,
A good reminder of our wealth on earth.

Thank you for sharing Felicia.....
Hello, I am new to this site but thought that I would share a verse. Hope you like it.

Lankill

I wandered the fields in search of destiny,
walked upon a well worn path,
came to a Dolmen standing,
2/3 deep in the ground,
it stands 7 feet upon the mound
to show that they were there.

Next came to me was a monestry,
the 5th centurt knew their truth
and down below a holy well,
the worn stone they left to tell
that many healed upon their knees,
many cured of their ills
to touch the water deep below
and seek forgivness for thier souls.

Hidden deep beneath the shade
famine graves where they were layed.
A unmarked stone was their saving grace
and now it adds a touch of beauty,
but the hunger that they learned to know,
left so many three feet below.

Now that place it offers peace
to the passer by who walks the fields
an altar stands there all alone
with two crosses carved into stone.
A few more foot steps from the trees,
heavens gate wait at our knees,
so there to kneel upon the grass
and find a peace that grows.
Hello, I am new to this site but thought that I would share a verse. Hope you like it.

Lankill

I wandered the fields in search of destiny,
walked upon a well worn path,
came to a Dolmen standing,
2/3 deep in the ground,
it stands 7 feet upon the mound
to show that they were there.

Next came to me was a monastery,
the 5th century knew their truth
and down below a holy well,
the worn stone they left to tell
that many healed upon their knees,
many cured of their ills
to touch the water deep below
and seek forgivness for thier souls.

Hidden deep beneath the shade
famine graves where they were layed.
A unmarked stone was their saving grace
and now it adds a touch of beauty,
but the hunger that they learned to know,
left so many three feet below.

Now that place it offers peace
to the passer by who walks the fields
an altar stands there all alone
with two crosses carved into stone.
A few more foot steps from the trees,
heavens gate wait at our knees,
so there to kneel upon the grass
and find a peace that grows.
I am so there--I can see it and feel it and I can smeell its sweet remnants!
Joe Keane said:
Hello, I am new to this site but thought that I would share a verse. Hope you like it.

Lankill

I wandered the fields in search of destiny,
walked upon a well worn path,
came to a Dolmen standing,
2/3 deep in the ground,
it stands 7 feet upon the mound
to show that they were there.

Next came to me was a monastery,
the 5th century knew their truth
and down below a holy well,
the worn stone they left to tell
that many healed upon their knees,
many cured of their ills
to touch the water deep below
and seek forgivness for thier souls.

Hidden deep beneath the shade
famine graves where they were layed.
A unmarked stone was their saving grace
and now it adds a touch of beauty,
but the hunger that they learned to know,
left so many three feet below.

Now that place it offers peace
to the passer by who walks the fields
an altar stands there all alone
with two crosses carved into stone.
A few more foot steps from the trees,
heavens gate wait at our knees,
so there to kneel upon the grass
and find a peace that grows.
I had a rare day off of work and spent the morning reading through this group correspondence, it was time well spent. I appreciate the insights that you all have shared and it renewed a love of reading poetry that I haven't had since college days. I see the last entry was November 6th so I hope my praise will encourage more discourse, Once again, thanks to all for a most enjoyable morning.
I was moved by a poem we studied in College. I beleive it was written by a WW2 veteran who was Irish or Irish American and all I can recall is a partial line "My Cause is Kiltrarton's poor" I googled the partial line and can found nothing. Does anyone have any Idea of the title or who wrote this poem? ? I would love to revisit the times I should have paid better attention at lectures.
Jeremiah,

The poem you are looking for was written by William Butler Yeats the Irish poet. I have reproduced it below. Enjoy!

Walter . . .

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death



I know that I shall meet my fate

Somewhere among the clouds above;

Those that I fight I do not hate,

Those that I guard I do not love;

My country is Kiltartan Cross,

My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,

No likely end could bring them loss

Or leave them happier than before.

Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,

Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,

A lonely impulse of delight

Drove to this tumult in the clouds;

I balanced all, brought all to mind,

The years to come seemed waste of breath,

A waste of breath the years behind

In balance with this life, this death.

William Butler Yeats

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


Jeremiah Fay said:
I was moved by a poem we studied in College. I beleive it was written by a WW2 veteran who was Irish or Irish American and all I can recall is a partial line "My Cause is Kiltrarton's poor" I googled the partial line and can found nothing. Does anyone have any Idea of the title or who wrote this poem? ? I would love to revisit the times I should have paid better attention at lectures.

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