FROM Arranmore the weary miles I've come; An' all the way I've heard A Shrawn that's kep' me silent, speechless, dumb, Not sayin' any word. An' was it then the Shrawn of Eire, you'll say, For him that died the death on Carrisbool? It was not that; nor was it, by the way, The Sons of Garnim blitherin' their drool; Nor was it any Crowdie of the Shee, Or Itt, or Himm, nor wail of Barryhoo For Barrywhich that stilled the tongue of me. 'Twas but my own heart cryin' out for you Magraw! Bulleen, shinnanigan, Boru, Aroon, Machree, Aboo! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMITATIONS OF HORACE: ODE IV, 1 by ALEXANDER POPE MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 12 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 63 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE SINGER IN THE PRISON by WALT WHITMAN FESSEDEN'S GARDEN by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN THE METAMORPHOSIS OF THE WALNUT-TREE OF BOARSTELL: CANTO 3 by WILLIAM BASSE |