Anna Johnston MacManus Poems

Hills o' my heart!
I have come to you at calling of my one love and only,
I have left behind the cruel scarlet wind of the east,
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There is a way I am fain to go–
To the mystical land where all are young,
Where the silver branches have buds of snow.
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Now that the gates are shut on all I cherished,
O wistful Love, I pray,
Blow no more haunting scents of roses perished,
About my lonely way.
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Mhuire a's truagh! Mhuire a's truagh!
A foot went by in the night,
A swift foot that I knew,
And I saw in the chill moonlight
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A rush of wings upon the air, while here you sit and spin–
Give over wailing, O sad heart, and let the Summer in!
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I follow the silver spears flung from the hands of dawn.
Through silence, through singing of stars, I journey on and on:
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Here did you stand, so shy and sweet,
With face turned to the moss-grown way
That William trod with eager feet
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The berried quicken-branches lament in lonely sighs,
Through open doorways of the dún a lonely wet wind cries,
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At the Well of the Branchy Trees, I lay awhile to rest,
Then God's hand shook the trouble down upon my breast,
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'Go forth to the combat,
My hero, my dearest,' she cried, half in sorrow;
'The trumpets peal loudly, there's work for the daring;
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