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Posts Tagged ‘lark’

Kathleen Mavourneen! the grey dawn is breaking,
The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill;
The lark from her light wing, the bright dew is shaking, –
Kathleen Mavourneen! what, slumbering still?
Oh, has thou forgotten how soon we must sever?
Oh, hast thou forgotten this day we must part?
It may be for years, and it may be for ever!
Oh, why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?
Oh, why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen? 

Kathleen Mavourneen, awake from thy slumbers!
The blue mountains glow in the sun’s golden light;
Ah, where is the spell that once hung on my numbers?
Arise in thy beauty, thou star of my night!
Mavourneen, Mavourneen, my sad tears are falling,
To think that from Erin and thee I must part!
It may be for years, and it may be for ever!
Then why art thou silent, thou voice of my heart?
Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen?

 

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I passed the place four crosses mark
(I shook my head and sighed).
The flowers draped upon them live –
It was four youths that died.

The intersection is a grave
Where spirits, restless, roam
As they would do at any tomb
That keeps them from their home.

I felt one run across my mind
As I was passing through.
It was unsettled, churning foam,
And I was troubled, too.

An afternoon of frolic o’er,
Like fall when color’s passed,
The highlights of the day all gone;
The talk and laughter – last.

What happened as their curtain closed,
So they were crushed or flung?
What note was on their lips or heart,
The final song they sung?

The red eye glared; they did not see.
Was it a tale one told?
Or was it, “Would you look at that?”
Or something else fool’s gold?

Lives perch upon the precipice,
And men remain or fall
For causes of the greatest worth,
Or some not great at all.

————————————-

© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2015.

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When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,
I all alone beweep my outcast state
And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries
And look upon myself and curse my fate,
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,
Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,
With what I most enjoy contented least;
Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,
Haply I think on thee, and then my state,
Like to the lark at break of day arising
From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;
For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

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The year’s at the spring
The day’s at the morn;
Morning’s at seven;
The hillside’s dew pearled;
The lark’s on the wing;
The snail’s on the thorn;
God’s in his heaven –
All’s right with the world!

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