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Godether
16:22
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2. |
Rust
01:53
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None
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3. |
The Mantle Tomb
10:59
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4. |
Bone
01:15
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Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death.
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead.
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse --
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
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Mourning Beloveth Ireland
It may have seemed a sign of hope that we are surrounded by humanity, but they are merely there to pick our bones, malignant. Growing on the mind like mould, a mere sliver of light drifting between wars and plagues for there is no sound of silence, no famine of the mind ... more
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