Thursday, March 19, 2009
Monday, March 16, 2009
Sunny day in St. Stephen's Green, April 1981.
The young fellow lying on the grass telling me the thousand stories of Ireland; from St. Patrick year 461 till Bobby Sands dying in the Maze prison just as we were speaking.
He so cleverly told me about St. Patrick, and the way he used the Shamrock to convince the pagan Irish about the Holy Trinity, I felt it might have happened yesterday.
I fell in love with this magic Emerald Isle, and her men, who all have kissed the Stone of Blarney.
And I've got this longing to once more return .
The Lake Isle of Innisfree
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
2. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,
Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;
There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,
And evening full of the linnet's wings.
3. I will arise and go now, for always night and day
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,
I hear it in the deep heart's core.
William Butler Yeats.