The Great War

from Herb o' Grace, an electronic edition


(In Connaught)

Gold from the edges of the horizon flowing,

A great and golden sea:

The light's spilled out of heaven and flowing, growing

A gold immensity.

The sea-bird now has gotten a golden feather,

Gold are the Hundred Isles,

Gold the white cabin like a cloud at tether

Where the long evening smiles.

The water-bird floats on the golden water,

Golden her wings and crest

As she were Fionnuala, the King's daughter,

Preening a golden breast.

The bog-pools now are fringed with golden lances,

The bog-cotton's aflame;

Gold are the mountains that were purple as pansies,

Since the wild heather came.

Oh, Heaven's o'er-arched with gold, that washing, flooding,

Drenches, with golden rain

The Dark Rose in her splendour, dreaming, brooding,

That she is crowned again.