Primrose Upon a bank I sat, a child made seer Of one small primrose flowering in my mind. Better than wealth it is, I said, to find One small page of Truth's manuscript made clear. I looked at Christ transfigured without fear-- The light was very beautiful and kind, And where the Holy Ghost in flame had signed I read it through the lenses of a tear. And then my sight grew dim, I could not see The primrose that had lighted me to Heaven, And there was but the shadow of a tree Ghostly among the stars. The years that pass Like tired soldiers nevermore have given Moments to see wonders in the grass. Patrick Kavanagh |
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Cruacha na hÉireann (Téigh chuig www.gaelscoiltromaire.ie chun éisteacht leis an amhran seo) Tá an samhradh ag sileadh a shéada, Inniu ar fud Oileán na Naomh. Tá an ghrian ag soillsiú go gleígeal, ‘S ag líonadh le haoibhneas an tír. Ó, is minic mé ‘smaointiú ar filleadh, Ar ais annsar cáirde mó chléibh; Imeasc subhailcí sona mo chine, ‘Na gcónaí fé Chruacha na hÉireann. Curfá Cruacha glas’ na hÉireann, ‘Lonnrú measc coillte craoibh. Ó a charaid nach méanair, Sinne fé dheire ag filleadh thar sáile. Gaotha grinn dár seoladh, Luascadh ar dhroim na mara; Ó, ní fada go mbeimíd slán, Sa bhaile fé chruacha na hÉireann Is fada an lá é ó d’fhágamar Ár mbaile ‘s ár muintir i mbrón Ag dréim lenár bpócaí a líonadh Thar sáile le hairgead is ór Ó nach cuma má táimid ag filleadh Gan pingin inár bpócaí faraor Tá an sláinte go fóill inár gcnámha Ag filleadh go cruacha na hÉireann Curfá |
 The Meeting of the Waters There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet Oh! The last rays of feeling and life must depart Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene Her purest of crystal and brightest of green 'Twas not her soft magic of streamlet or hill Oh, no! It was something more exquisite still Oh, no! It was something more exquisite still. 'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom were near Who made every dear scene of enchantment more dear And who felt how the best charms of nature improve When we see them reflected from looks that we love When we see them reflected from looks that we love. Sweet vale of Avoca! How calm could I rest In thy bosom of shade, with the friends I love best Where the storms that we feel in this cold world should cease And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace. |
 Upon Westminster Bridge Earth has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning: silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky, All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! The river glideth at his own sweet will: Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; And all that mighty heart is lying still!  William Wordsworth Sept. 3, 1802 |
