The Great War

from The Holy War, an electronic edition

The Wild Geese

Wild geese fly overhead

In the wild Autumn weather.

Souls of the newly-dead

Crying and flying together.

Home from the last great fight,

The souls of the Irish farin'

With a wild heart in the night,

A grey eye turned to Erin.

High and high in the sky,

From the red fields of slaughter

Ever they fly and cry

For the brown bog, the grey water.

Wild geese in the wild even,

Steady and strong their flight,

Their beds are made in Heaven,

All of the down white.

They have forgone that bliss

Till they have seen once more

The little land of peace,

Green and bright as of yore.

High o'er the sheep and cattle,

The bogs and the mountains lone,

The souls new-home from the battle

Cry their love and are flown.