World Poetry Day is on 21 March. List your favorite Irish poem/poet

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest
For he comes, the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand


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BROTHER MICK - Sigerson Clifford Poems

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Poems » sigerson clifford » brother mick

The mountain frowned upon the school,
The school stared at the street,
And rich men's sons came there in shoes
While I ran in bare feet.
The rich had meat and cakes to eat,
And butter like the Danes, (1)
While I had only spuds and fish,
And fish, they say, makes brains. (2)
But still the rich boys passed exams
While I kept thin, and thick,
And thanked the stars that he had come
Among us... Brother Mick.

We had the world's slowest clock
That drowsed upon the wall,
While I cursed the Roman scoundrels
That let Caesar loose in Gaul.
There, too, was Euclid with his cuts,
And trigonometry.
That Peachy, Ring and Chas could do
But they were Greek to me.
And there were sums on trains and tubs
Of water running quick:
'Twas Chinese torture till he came
To save me... Brother Mick.

For Brother Tom no patience had
With duffers such as I
Who never could be taught to solve
The mystery of pi.
And Brother Jim had even less
For those who didn't prize
The hairy men of hither Gaul
As seen through Caesar's eyes.
Then Brother Tom whacked like a bomb,
While Jim could wield the stick.
But that was all before we knew
The smile of Brother Mick.

Still the great Power that will not let
The sparrow fall to earth
Took pity on bewildered brains
No Latin could alert.
For Brother Jim was sent to Trim (3)
To march with Caesar there,
While we sprawled in our desks and heard
The new man on the stair.
We saw him smile as he came in,
His footsteps short and quick;
His name was Brother Michael
So, of course, we called him Mick.

And as the weeks meandered on
We watched with puzzled eye
And wondered if some archangel
Had strayed down from the sky.
He did not shout, he did not clout
But went his gentle way
To bring the light to souls that stood
Full ankle-deep in clay.
He locked the leather in the press
And burned the hazel stick;
‘Twas then we all threw doubts upon
The mind of Brother Mick.

How short is time with one you love,
A year is like a while.
The things you will not do for stick
You learn for a smile.
We passed exams and scholarships,
Our mothers thought us fine,
Though greater than the loaves and fish
The miracle of mine.
The gods be praised I even got
Marks in arithmetic;
'You'll be a second Einstein yet,'
Said surprised Brother Mick.

The big lads reaped their excise jobs,
We all marched to the train
And shook their lordly hands and praised
The old school once again.
The engine panted up the rails,
We flung our cheers out loud
And watched it sprinting past the bridge,
Its whistle long and proud.
And as we laughed we little knew
The card Fate chose to pick,
How soon he'd be an exile too,
Our splendid Brother Mick...

The world has wheeled a lot since then,
Quiet are the hobs of home
And far from me these things are now
As is the moon from Rome.
But I can see the old school still
Stand tall above the street,
I smell the heather from the hill
And hear the running feet.
And in the door he walks again,
His footsteps short and quick,
And back across the years I wave
Goodbye to Brother Mick.

                                               THE TRAMP
In a lonely part of Ireland,near the town of Mullingar
We were gathered in the evening,in a little village bar
Through the door there came a stranger,just a tramp
he seemed to be
In his face the sign of hunger,almost anyone could see
But he brought a breath of summer,as he slowly wandered in
Dressed in rags that someone gave him,and the boots
now worn so thin 
Someones son my mind was thinking,someone fallen
by the way 
Or perhaps a long lost father,who had seen a better day

Could i join you for a minute,just before i go my way
In a voice as sweet as music,mindful of a summer day
I have wandered o'er the moorland ,seen the rising of 
the sun,And my poor old feet are weary ,lifes hard battle
must be won 
To a seat i saw him totter,heard the whisper of a sigh,
Then i saw the old face brighted,with a twink.e in the eye
Lonely there he sat and listened,to the stories that were told
Someones son or father ,who had wandered from the fold

Surely there must be a story,hidden somewhere in the 
Of a tramp who roams the moorland,something different
from the rest
As i made my wayto join him,something told me
he was glad 
Folk around me gazed in wonder,some they even
thought me mad
Thank you sir,i heard him saying
Lonlinesscan bring a chill
Maybe i should tell a story
Though with tears my eyesthey fill 
In my youth i was an artist,painted pictures by the score
Then one day i found an angel,married her in Annaghmore

I was happy with my ,sunshine came our way
And eack night we knelt together,just to meditate and pray
But a fhief he came and stle her ,took the flower I
cherished rare,
Isn,t there a god in heaven to protect a life so fair
Did you ever lose a fortune,did you lose your only friend
Did the sunshine never bless you,nor the lonely not bend
Did you ever see the finger,pointed at you all the day
Broken hearts are never mended,in this hard and cruel way

I left home with all its sadness,left the place where i
was born
Made the sky my onlt blanket,and my friend a
sundecked morn
When they told me she was dying,even after all
the years
Like a baby i was crying,finding solace in my tears
To the place where she is lying,every year i
make my way
And i place a wreath of roses, on that brown and 
sacred clay
Roses plucked from out the hedgerows,but she seen 
them just the same
And i know she hears me whisper,as i quietly breathe
her name 

You may ask why i remember,why she's always in
my dreams 
But true love is ne'er forgotten,and a fond smile 
always beams 
I forgave and granted pardon,even in my prayers i say
That a souls not lost to heaven,just for erring
on the way
Summer brings its gladness,and the birds
sing high above
Just to bring me consolation,an an atmosphere
of love 
But a tramp in lonely exilemstill within his native land
Must keep trying,just keep trying,only god san understand

Thank you, sir, for all your goodness,i must now be on 
my way
I have many miles to wander,ere i meditate and pray
God alone now brings me comfort,only he can give
me peace
Till this worldshall mark me absent,ans all worry
it shall cease
In a lonely part od Ireland,near the town of Mullingar
We were gathered in the evening ,in a little village bar,
Through the door there passed a stranger,just a tramp
he seemed to be 
In his face the sign of heaven ,almost anyone could see

...i learned this poem when i went to Kildimo National School(.Limerick) I am now 67yr old man...the poem and others are as fresh and lovely as the first time i heard them.

Padraic Colum. 1881–
 An Old Woman of the Roads
O, TO have a little house!  
To own the hearth and stool and all!  
The heaped up sods upon the fire,  
The pile of turf against the wall!  
To have a clock with weights and chains
And pendulum swinging up and down!  
A dresser filled with shining delph,  
Speckled and white and blue and brown!  
I could be busy all the day  
Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor,
And fixing on their shelf again  
My white and blue and speckled store!  
I could be quiet there at night  
Beside the fire and by myself,  
Sure of a bed and loth to leave
The ticking clock and the shining delph!  
Och! but I'm weary of mist and dark,  
And roads where there's never a house nor bush,  
And tired I am of bog and road,  
And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high,  
And I am praying Him night and day,  
For a little house—a house of my own—  
Out of the wind's and the rain's way.  


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