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450 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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And over all, the summer sky, Shut out the town we left behind;
'Twas joy to stand in silence by,
One bright chain linking mind to mind.
Oh, little lonely mountain spot!
Your place within my heart will be Apart from all Life's busy lot
A true, sweet, solemn memory. |
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ST. MICHAN'S CHURCHYARD
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NSIDE the city's throbbing heart One spot I know set well apart From life's hard highway, life's loud mart.
Each Dublin lane and street and square
Around might echo; but in there
The sound stole soft as whispered prayer.
A little, lonely, green graveyard,
The old churchyard its solemn guard,
The gate with naught but sunbeams barred;
While other sunbeams went and came Above the stone which waits the name His land must write with Freedom's flame.1
The slender elm above that stone,
Its summer wreath of leaves had thrown
Around the heart so quiet grown. |
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1 Referring to the grave of Robert Emmet. |
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