THE silence of maternal hills
Is round me in my evening dreams;
And round me music-making rills
And mingling waves of pastoral streams.
He knows the safe ways and unsafe
And he will lead the lambs to fold,
Gathering them with his merry pipe,
The gentle and the overbold.
Every night at Currabwee
Little men with leather hats
Mend the boots of Faery
From the tough wings of the bats.
Behind The Closed Eye
I walk the old frequented ways
That wind around the tangled braes,
I live again the sunny days
Ere I the city knew.
Quiet miles of golden sky,
And in my heart a sudden flower.
I want to clap my hands and cry
When I was young I had a care
Lest I should cheat me of my share
Of that which makes it sweet to strive
For life, and dying still survive,