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370 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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But the little roads of Cloonagh are deeper far to me, And the little roads of Cloonagh go rambling through my heart.
A great storm from the ocean goes shouting o'er the hill, And there's glory in it, and terror on the wind ; But the haunted air of twilight is very strange and still, And the little winds of twilight are dearer to my mind. |
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The great waves of the Atlantic sweep storming on their way, Shining green and silver with the hidden herring shoal; But the Little Waves of Breffny have drowned my heart in spray, And the Little Waves of Breffuy go stumbling through my soul. |
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TO MAEVE
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OT for thee, O Maeve, is the song of the WanÂdering Harper sung, For men have put lies on thy lips, and treason and shrieking fear; Because thou wert brave, they say thou wert bitter and false of tongue : They mock at thy weakness now, who once fled from thy flaming spear. |
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