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I walk through the churchyard
I walk through the churchyard
To lay this body down;
I know moon-rise, I know star-rise;
I walk in the moonlight, I walk in the starlight;
I'll lie in the grave and stretch out my arms,
I'll go to judgement in the evening of the day,
And my soul and thy soul shall meet that day,
When I lay this body down.
bardachd: (Default)
A iníon álainn Choinn Uí Néill,
is fada do shuan tar éis d'áir;
is nach gcluin uaisle do chine féin
tú ag caoineadh do spré tar éis a bháis.

Ceiliúr an éin lúfair luaith
theastaigh uait, a fhaoileann bhán;
cha bhíonn tubaiste ach mar mbíonn spré,
is déansa foighid ó ghreadadh lámh.

Ó ghreadadh lámh is ó shileadh rosc,
glacsa tost, a fhaoileann úr;
a iníon álainn Choinn Uí Néill,
fá bhás an éin ná fliuch do shúil.

A fhaoileann a d'fhás ó ardrí Uladh na rí,
fuirigh mar tá, is fearr é nó imeacht le baois;
fá d'éan beag a b'áille gáire ar imeall na gcraobh,
chan ceist duit a bhás go brách is é nite le haol. Read more... )
bardachd: (Default)
Skimming lightly, wheeling still,
The swallows fly low
Over the field in clouded days,
The forest-field of Shiloh -
Over the field where April rain
Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
Through the pause of night
That followed the Sunday fight
Around the church of Shiloh -
The church so lone, the log-built one,
That echoed to many a parting groan
And natural prayer
Of dying foemen mingled there -
Foemen at morn, but friends at eve
Fame or country least their care:
(What like a bullet can undeceive!)
But now they lie low,
While over them the swallows skim,
And all is hushed at Shiloh.
bardachd: (Default)
Are the angels of her bed the angels
who come near me alone in mine?
Are the green trees in her window
the color I see in ripe plums?
If she always sees backward
and upside down without knowing it
what chance do we have? I am haunted
by the feeling that she is saying
melting lords of death, avalanches,
rivers and moments of passing through.
And I am replying, "Yes, yes.
Shoes and pudding."
bardachd: (Default)
If you do not accomplish the goals
you had when you were sixteen
you will be troubled the rest of your life
and will inevitably replace them with new goals
that are less fun and involve
a fear of failure.

The best conversations
you will ever have
will happen
on a front porch
just before dawn.

You will be wearing your socks
cut off shorts
and wondering if you should
hold out for breakfast.

The two best ways to die
are laughing
and in battle.
bardachd: (Default)
What passing bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.

No mockeries now for them; no prayers nor bells;
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs,
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of good-byes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;

Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.
bardachd: (Default)
Chidiock (Charles) Tichborne (1558 – September 20, 1586) is remembered as an English conspirator and poet. He was executed at the age of 25 for his involvement in the Babington plot.

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My crop of corn is but a field of tares,
And all my good is but vain hope of gain;
The day is past, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard and yet it was not told,
My fruit is fallen, and yet my leaves are green,
My youth is spent and yet I am not old,
I saw the world and yet I was not seen;Read more... )


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