Classic Poem

O men of Horn Head
May you reap black corn
For you drove me from your plantation,
But I know an isle
Where the fire does a step-dance
When the wind cannot land from the high surf,
And soon I was sailing
The pure tide with Norsemen
And I stayed a fortnight in Tory,
Though I was not acquainted
With the dark-haired women
For they gallop all day, there, on horseback.

At the heel of a cloud
I prayed on Croagh Patric
Above the islands of the bay;
I saw from a hilltop,
A mile to Clifden,
A hundred lakes upon a Sunday.
Were I safe in a glen,
Halfway through the rushes
When light was fishing the waters,
I would have good walking
From dewfall at evening
Beneath the little trees of Nephin.

I saw from Galway
A Spanish ship flaming
Beyond the phantom isles of Arran;
Grey stone for hedges
Has bound the green county
Around branchy Coole of the manor,
Where I halted with Yeats
To share the wise salmon
He grassed from the Lake of Jewels;
I dipped in his plate
Without praise, without wine,
Though he asked me to come to his Castle.

By Little Connaught
When sails were filling
And shadow danced like a balladman,
What should I hear
As I leaned on the counter
But the ferrule of O Conaire
Hitting the road
To Tirnanogue!
And, O Padraic, you did not know me,
Though we, for a week
In Baltinglass,
Were drinking with the Wicklow men.

Thoroughbreds and mares
Were sold at Ballinasloe
As I drew beside a crowd on the fair-day,
With drovers from Clare,
Horse-dealers over wave
And Volunteers that came in from Sligo.
Of brave Bonaparte
Street singers were droning
And, O boys, my money was a fire
When I heard the card-music,
The farmers at their drink
And the coloured kings and queens going by.

By the holy well,
And the honey house
Of stone, I read the Gospel
Until a bird called me
Over bright water
That was sapping the green miles of barley:
And when the chill rain
Was setting at night,
I met the great horsemen with plunder
And among black hills
I feasted with them,
In the royal house of Curoi Mac Dara.