Anna Johnston MacManus Poems

O,
Páistín Fionn
, but it vexed her sore,
The day you turned from your mother's door
...

SHIELA NÍ GARA, it is lonesome where you bide,
With the plover circling over and the sagans spreading wide,
...

What shall the year bring, fraught with omen,
What shall the core of its message be?
Tramp of battle, and bright swords flashing,
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Beannacht leat!

I hold your hand in mine, I say
The parting words this parting day–
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The steeds of the Black Wind race
Frost-shod and fleet,
Where you hide from my love your face,
And stay your feet:
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Underneath the shrouding stone,
Where you lie in Death alone,
Can you hear me calling, calling,
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Mary of Carrick has gone away
From our pleasant places, down to the sea,
She has put a loss on our mountain gray,
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Be pitiful, my God!
No hard-won gifts I bring–
But empty, pleading hands
To Thee at evening.
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My Black Slender Boy, as you step on your way
To the dewy-wet fields at the dawning of day;
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A Sword of Light hath pierced the dark, our eyes have seen the Star:
Oh Eire, leave the ways of sleep now days of promise are:
...