IN sweet Irish clay may I lie Heart clasped to my race, O brothers and sisters of mine, Give me of your space! For mine was the life that you lived, The fight that you fought, And bright in the gloom of mine own Were deeds you had wrought. So let the dear dust of your dead Drift over my face, And this be the dirge that you sing And song that you trace. A pebble is thrown to the beach From whence it was brought, A leaf has dropped weary for rest To those it had sought. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WOOING by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR GRIN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE CALIBAN [ON THE ISLAND], FR. THE TEMPEST by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA by HENRY WOTTON CHANGE OF MOOD by HAROLD BERGMAN THE JAZZ BABY by BERTON BRALEY THE SHEPHERD'S PIPE: FIRST ECLOGUE by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |