Katharine Tynan Poems
|42.||The Lowlands Of Flanders||4/14/2010|
|43.||The Secret Foe||4/14/2010|
|49.||To R A A||4/14/2010|
|50.||The Weeping Babe||1/3/2003|
|61.||To Two Bereaved||4/14/2010|
|62.||The Vision: (Katia: Easter Sunday, 1916)||4/14/2010|
|63.||The Boys Of The House: For Valentine And Hubert Blake||4/14/2010|
|64.||Epiphany: (For Dora, 1918)||4/14/2010|
|65.||Flower O' The Year||4/14/2010|
|67.||Mid The Piteous Heaps Of Dead||4/14/2010|
|68.||The Open Road||4/14/2010|
|69.||Good Friday, A.D. 33||4/14/2010|
|70.||The Long Vacation||4/14/2010|
|71.||The Last Parting||4/14/2010|
|72.||The Perfect Playmate||4/14/2010|
|73.||Song Of Going||4/14/2010|
Comments about Katharine Tynan
I am the pillars of the house;
The keystone of the arch am I.
Take me away, and roof and wall
Would fall to ruin me utterly.
I am the fire upon the hearth,
I am the light of the good sun,
I am the heat that warms the earth,
Which else were colder than a stone.
At me the children warm their hands;
I am their light of love alive.
Without me cold the hearthstone stands,
Nor could the precious children thrive.
I am the twist that holds together
The children in its sacred ring,
Their knot of love, from whose close tether
No lost child goes ...
The Foggy Dew
A splendid place is London, with golden store,
For them that have the heart and hope and youth galore;
But mournful are its streets to me, I tell you true,
For I'm longing sore for Ireland in the foggy dew.
The sun he shines all day here, so fierce and fine,
With never a wisp of mist at all to dim his shine;
The sun he shines all day here from skies of blue:
He hides his face in Ireland in the foggy dew.