The Awakening Of DermuidIn the sleepy forest where the bluebellsSmouldered dimly through the night,Dermuid saw the leavesLike green watersAt daybreak flowing into light,And exaltant from his love upspringingStrode with the sun upon the height.Glittering on the hilltopsHe saw the sunlit rainDrift as around the spindleA silver threaded skien,And the brown mist whitely breakingWhere arrowy torrents reached the plain.A maddened moonLeapt in his heart and...Whirled the crimson tideOf his blood until it sang aloud of battleWhere the querns of dark death grind,Till it sang and scorned in prideLove - the froth-paleBlossom of the boglandsThat flutters on the waves ofThe wandering wind.Flower quiet in the rush strewn sheilingAt the dawntime Grainne lay,While beneath the birch-topped roofThe sunlight groped upon its wayAnd stopped above her sleeping white bodyWith a wasp yellow ray.The hot breath of the day awoke her,And wearied of its heatShe wandered out by the noisy elmsOn the cool mossy peat,Where the shadowed leavesLike pecking linnetsNodded round her feet.She leaned and sawIn the pale-grey waters,By twisted hazel boughs,Her lips like heavy drooping poppiesIn a rich redness drowse,Then swallow...Lightly touched the ripplesUntil her wet lips wereBurning as ripened rowan berriesThrough the white winter air.Lazily she lingeredGazing so,As the slender osiersWhere the waters flow,As greentwigs of sallySwaying to and fro.Sleepy moths flutteredIn her dark eyes,And her lips grew quieterThan lullabies.Swaying with the reedgrassOver the streamLazily she lingeredCradling a dream. -Austin Clarke-"The Vengeance of Finn"
Glittering on the hilltopsHe saw the sunlit rainDrift as around the spindleA silver threaded skien,And the brown mist whitely breakingWhere arrowy torrents reached the plain.
A maddened moonLeapt in his heart and...Whirled the crimson tideOf his blood until it sang aloud of battleWhere the querns of dark death grind,Till it sang and scorned in prideLove - the froth-paleBlossom of the boglandsThat flutters on the waves ofThe wandering wind.
Flower quiet in the rush strewn sheilingAt the dawntime Grainne lay,While beneath the birch-topped roofThe sunlight groped upon its wayAnd stopped above her sleeping white bodyWith a wasp yellow ray.
The hot breath of the day awoke her,And wearied of its heatShe wandered out by the noisy elmsOn the cool mossy peat,Where the shadowed leavesLike pecking linnetsNodded round her feet.
She leaned and sawIn the pale-grey waters,By twisted hazel boughs,Her lips like heavy drooping poppiesIn a rich redness drowse,Then swallow...Lightly touched the ripplesUntil her wet lips wereBurning as ripened rowan berriesThrough the white winter air.
Lazily she lingeredGazing so,As the slender osiersWhere the waters flow,As greentwigs of sallySwaying to and fro.Sleepy moths flutteredIn her dark eyes,And her lips grew quieterThan lullabies.Swaying with the reedgrassOver the streamLazily she lingeredCradling a dream.
-Austin Clarke-"The Vengeance of Finn"