1947
IF YOU EVER GO ACROSS
THE SEA TO IRELAND, THEN MAYBE
AT THE CLOSING OF YOUR DAY,
YOU WILL SIT AND WATCH THE MOON
RISE OVER CLADDAGH, AND SEE
THE SUN GO DOWN ON GALWAY BAY.
JUST TO HEAR AGAIN THE RIPPLE
OF THE TROUT STREAM,
THE WOMEN IN THE MEADOWS MAKIN’ HAY.
AND TO SIT BESIDE A TURF-FIRE
IN THE CABIN, AND WATCH
THE BAREFOOT GOSSOONS AT THEIR PLAY.
FOR THE BREEZES BLOWIN’
O’ER THE SEA FROM IRELAND,
ARE PERFUMED BY THE HEATHER
AS THEY BLOW.
AND THE WOMEN IN THE UPLANDS
DIGGIN’ PRATIES,
SPEAK A LANGUAGE
THAT THE STRANGERS DO NOT KNOW.
FOR THE STRANGERS CAME
AND TRIED TO TEACH US THEIR WAY.
THEY SCORNED US
JUST FOR BEING WHAT WE ARE.
BUT THEY MIGHT AS WELL
GO CHASING AFTER MOONBEAMS,
OR LIGHT A PENNY CANDLE FROM A STAR.
AND IF THERE’S GOING TO BE
A LIFE HERE-AFTER.
AND SOMEHOW I AM SURE
THERE’S GOING TO BE.
I WILL ASK MY GOD
TO LET ME MAKE MY HEAVEN,
IN THAT DEAR LAND ACROSS THE IRISH SEA.
