Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SECOND SIGHT by KATHARINE TYNAN

First Line: IN BELGARD ORCHARD, OLD AND GREY

"Sister," said blind Dara,

"What do you behold?"
IN Belgard Orchard, old and grey,
Round her and St. Brigid
You said the fairies danced at their play
Flowed the dawn's gold.
When all the world is lovely with May,
"Sister," said blind Dara,
And the apple-boughs are in rose and pearl:
"Would that I might see

Veils of gold and silver

Drawn on hill and lea!"
The horned moon hangs in the willow tree,
Over her and Brigid
And the owl is hooting so eerily,
Carolled the lark;
But fairy revels were blithe to see,
Hills were heights of Heaven,
With shimmer of satin and glint of curl.
Though their feet were dark.

Dew in the shadow

Pearled the gossamer;
There are no fairies, sister dear;
Kine in the meadow
Only the white moon shining here
'Gan to low and stir.
On last year's mosses, yellow and sere,
Mists from the bogland
And a donkey sleeps by the lichened wall.
Curled like silver smoke,

Young birds were singing

In the arching oak.
But now with your four-leafed shamrock's might,
To the east and southward
And your velvety fingers, cold and white,
Scarlet grew the world,
Touch mine eyes that I see aright
And the sun leapt upward,
The fairies holding their fairy ball.
As a ball is hurled.




Oh, there's a lady tall as a span,
Brigid, lost in praying,
With the fairest face since the world began,
Touched her sister's eyes;
And she smiles on the daintiest gentleman
"Oh," she said, "my sister,
With a velvet coat and a sword by his side;
Dove of God, arise!

Eyes no longer sightless,

See His glory spread!"
His ruffles are all of jewels and lace,
Dara, with a loud cry,
And he kisses her hand with the courtliest grace,
Lifted up her head:
And ever he looks to her winsome face:
Saw the little rivers
I think the pair be bridegroom and bride.
Glide through bogland brown,

Where the yellow iris

Flaunted her gold gown:
On a purple toadstool she's throned high,
Saw that sea of scarlet
With a beetle's back for her footstool nigh,
Flush on hill and wood;
O'erhead is a scarlet butterfly
Praised God's name, rejoicing
With wings spread wide for her canopy;
That His works were good.

"Yet," she said, "my sister,

Blind me once again,
Her bridal robe of the diamond dew,
Lest His presence in me
Where opal and amber and rose look through,
Groweth less plain.
Shimmers down to her sapphire shoe;
Stars and dawn and sunset
Her hair is lighted by fireflies three.
Keep till Paradise,

Here His face sufficeth

For my sightless eyes."
On greater toadstools, yellow and red,

I ween is a dainty banquet spread,

With wine of cowslips and beechen bread
"Oh!" she said, "my sister,
And honey-dew from the honey-bee;
Night is beautiful,

Where His face is shining

Who was mocked as fool.
And fairies clad in the gold and rose,
More than star and meteor,
With light wings hued like the silver snows,
More than moon or sun,
And long-lashed eyes where the violet blows,
Is the thorn-crowned forehead
Dance out in a ring from the apple tree.
Of the Holy One."

"Haste," she said, "and plunge me

Once again in night,
Sister learned in the fairy lore,
Lest perchance I lose Him,
Tell me the story you told before,
Gaining my sight."
Of the fairy Queen and Prince Miraflore,
Brigid, lost in praying,
Whose loves went wrong as a mortal's will.
Touched her eyes once more,

And the light went fading

Off sea and shore.
Over your cradle so long ago
All His creatures praise Him,
A fairy sang in the white moon's flow,
From daylight to dun,
And kissed your eyes and your brows that know,
Stars and moon and cloudland,
And touched your lips with their elfin skill.
And Messer the Sun;

Seas and hills and forests,

And the frozen waste:
Sister dear, is the pain set right;
Dara in her blindness
And is this the feast of their wedding-night?
Praiseth Him best.
Your face is pale, and your eyes burn bright:

Oh, leave not us for your fairy kin!





The dancers dance, and the violins soar;
But hear you not from our cottage door
Our father calling your name, Asthore
And our mother sing as her fingers spin?




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