Frederick Robert Higgins

(24 April 1896 - 6 January 1941 / Foxford / Ireland)

Connemara


THE soft rain is falling
Round bushy isles,
Veiling the waters
Over wet miles,
And hushing the grasses
Where plovers call,
While soft clouds are falling
Over all.

I pulled my new curragh
Through the clear sea
And left the brown sailings
Far behind me,
For who would not hurry
Down to the isle,
Where Una has lured me
With a smile.

She moves through her sheiling
Under the haws,
Her movements are softer
Than kitten's paws;
And shiny blackberries
Sweeten the rain,
Where I haunt her beaded
Window-pane.

I would she were heeding-
Keeping my tryst-
That soft moon of amber
Blurred in the mist,
And rising the plovers
Where salleys fall,
Till slumbers come hushing
One and all.

Submitted: Friday, May 11, 2012
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