Inscriptions : I. Of Ireland - Poem by Thomas MacDonagh
A half of pathos is the past we know,
A half the future into which we go;
Or present joy broken with old regret,
Or sorrow saved from hell by one hope yet.
There once was pleasant water and fresh land
Where now the Sphinx gazes across the sand;
Yet may she hope, though dynasties have died,
That Change abides while Time and she abide.
Comments about Inscriptions : I. Of Ireland by Thomas MacDonagh
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