Thomas Davis

(14 October 1814 – 16 September 1845 / Mallow / County Cork / Ireland)

Thomas Davis Poems

1. The Sack Of Baltimore 8/1/2012
2. The Right Road 8/1/2012
3. Tipperary 8/1/2012
4. The Surprise Of Cremona 8/1/2012
5. The Vow Of Tipperary 8/1/2012
6. Tone's Grave 8/1/2012
7. We Must Not Fail 8/1/2012
8. The Lost Path 8/1/2012
9. The Penal Days 8/1/2012
10. The West's Asleep 8/1/2012
11. The Burial 8/1/2012
12. The Dugannon Convention 8/1/2012
13. Love And War 8/1/2012
14. The Boatman Of Kinsale 8/1/2012
15. Oh! The Marriage 8/1/2012
16. Self-Reliance 8/1/2012
17. Our Own Again 8/1/2012
18. O'Brien Of Ara 8/1/2012
19. Orange And Green Will Carry The Day 8/1/2012
20. Blind Mary 8/1/2012
21. The Girl Of Dunbwy 8/1/2012
22. Clare's Dragoons 8/1/2012
23. The Battle Eve Of The Brigade 8/1/2012
24. Nationality 8/1/2012
25. O'Connell's Statue 8/1/2012
26. Celts And Saxons 8/1/2012
27. A Song For The Irish Militia 8/1/2012
28. The Geraldines 5/10/2012
29. A Nation Once Again 8/1/2012
30. Lament For The Death Of Eoghan Ruadh O'Neill 8/1/2012
31. My Land 8/1/2012
32. The Green Above The Red 8/1/2012
33. The Flower Of Finae 8/1/2012
34. Fontenoy 8/1/2012
35. My Grave 8/1/2012
Best Poem of Thomas Davis

My Grave

Shall they bury me in the deep,
Where wind-forgetting waters sleep?
Shall they dig a grave for me,
Under the green-wood tree?
Or on the wild heath,
Where the wilder breath
Of the storm doth blow?
Oh, no! oh, no!

Shall they bury me in the Palace Tombs,
Or under the shade of Cathedral domes?
Sweet 'twere to lie on Italy's shore;
Yet not there-nor in Greece, though I love it more,
In the wolf or the vulture my grave shall I find?
Shall my ashes career on the world-seeing wind?
Shall they fling my corpse in the battle mound,
Where coffinless ...

Read the full of My Grave

Blind Mary

There flows from her spirit such love and delight,
That the face of Blind Mary is radiant with light-
As the gleam from a homestead through darkness will show
Or the moon glimmer soft through the fast falling snow.

Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at times,
As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes!
And she talks of the sunset, like parting of friends,
And the starlight, as love, that not changes nor ends.

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