Classic Poem

In London here the streets are grey, an' grey the sky above;
I wish I were in Ireland to see the skies I love—
Pearl cloud, buff cloud, the colour of a dove.

All day I travel English streets, but in my dreams I tread
The far Glencullen road and see the soft sky overhead,
Grey clouds, white clouds, the wind has shepherded.

At night the London lamps shine bright, but what are they to me?
I've seen the moonlight in Glendhu, the stars above Glenchree—
The lamps of Heav'n give light enough for me.

The city in the winter time put on a shroud of smoke,
But the sky above the Three rock was blue as Mary's cloak,
Ruffled like doves' wings when the wind awoke.

I dream I see the Wicklow hills by evening sunlight kissed,
An' every glen and valley there brimful of radiant mist—
The jewelled sky topaz and amethyst.

I wake to see the London streets, the sombre sky above,
God's blessing on the far-off roads, and on the skies I love,—
Pearl feather, grey feather, wings of a dove.