A Book of Celtic Verse
[T O S EUMAS Mac M ANUS ]
T HAT was never a book that you brought me and gave to my hand —
'Twas a wind sighing and a wave lifting,
And the sight of a red moon drifting
O'er a far-off land.
That was never a thing of words that you brought and bade me know —
'Twas a bugle blowing, a flame burning,
And the gleam of a swift lance turning
To the flying foe.
That was never a printed rhyme that you brought and bade me see —
'Twas a child's laughter and a bride's sighing,
A saint's faith and a strong man's dying,
That you gave to me.
T HAT was never a book that you brought me and gave to my hand —
'Twas a wind sighing and a wave lifting,
And the sight of a red moon drifting
O'er a far-off land.
That was never a thing of words that you brought and bade me know —
'Twas a bugle blowing, a flame burning,
And the gleam of a swift lance turning
To the flying foe.
That was never a printed rhyme that you brought and bade me see —
'Twas a child's laughter and a bride's sighing,
A saint's faith and a strong man's dying,
That you gave to me.
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