I am of Ireland - William B. Keats

 

I Am Of Ireland

William Butler Yeats

I am of Ireland

And the Holy Land of Ireland

And time runs on cried she

Come out of charity

Come dance with me in Ireland.

One man, one man alone

In that outlandish gear

One solitary man

Of all that rambled there

Had turned his stately head

That is a long way off

And time runs on he said

And the night grows rough

I am of Ireland

And the Holy Land of Ireland

And time runs on, cried she

Come out of charity

And dance with me in Ireland

The fiddlers are all thumbs

Or the fiddle-string accursed

The drums and the kettledrums

And the trumpets all are burst

And the trombone cried he

The trumpet and trombone

And cocked a malicious eye

But time runs on, runs on

I am of Ireland

And the Holy Land of Ireland

And time runs on cried she

Come out of charity

And dance with me in Ireland

 

Oh Danny Boy

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side

The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying

'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide

But come you back when summer's in the meadow

Or when the valleys hushed and white with snow

'Tis I'll be there in sunshine or in shadow

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so

And if you come, when all the flowers are dying

And I am dead, as dead I well may be

You'll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me

And I shall hear, though' soft you tread above me

And all my dreams will warm and sweeter be

If you'll not fail to tell me that you love me

I simply sleep in peace until you come to me