The yellow moon hung low
Over papier-mâché hills and
Cast it's benevolent glow
On the factories and homes
And the slick home bound motorcars
The birds sang their mellow songs
And said a cheery slán* to the dying day
To the sun
Now gone behind the Wicklow Mountains
While slowly stars began their dance
Glistening in the darkening sky
And in houses windows lit up
While halos formed on lamp lights
Beneath which lovers and lonely souls
Found solace in the deepening
Darkness of a chilly September evening.
*Slán is the Irish word for goodbye.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
..........ohh I must look up this collection...where can I find it....who is the author? .....just now I saw photos of bray on wikitravel.....would love to visit bray....