The Great War

from Late Songs, an electronic edition

Summer Airs

This air's a lovely thing: it blows

Softer than any kisses are;

Touches my cheek like a wet rose

Drenched in all sweetness, near and far.

There's heather in it, miles on miles,

Rough sweetness of great seas that break

On Achill cliffs and Clew's dear isles;

Oh many a mountain, many a lake!

What soft invisible Loving clings

About my neck and lifts my hair

The Eternal Love in these wild wings

Meets me and clasps me everywhere.

Thou mad'st for me this air, this wind,

These heavenly sweets for me, for me

That I might live and thrive, O kind!

Fed on the very Breath of Thee.