Main Street, and Other Poems

<h2> Easter Week </h2> <h3> (In memory of Joseph Mary Plunkett) </h3> <p>("Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,<br/> It's with O'Leary in the grave.")<br/> William Butler Yeats.<br/></p> <p>"Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,<br/> It's with O'Leary in the grave."<br/> Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn<br/> A hue so radiantly brave?<br/> <br/> There was a rain of blood that day,<br/> Red rain in gay blue April weather.<br/> It blessed the earth till it gave birth<br/> To valour thick as blooms of heather.<br/> <br/> Romantic Ireland never dies!<br/> O'Leary lies in fertile ground,<br/> And songs and spears throughout the years<br/> Rise up where patriot graves are found.<br/> <br/> Immortal patriots newly dead<br/> And ye that bled in bygone years,<br/> What banners rise before your eyes?<br/> What is the tune that greets your ears?<br/> <br/> The young Republic's banners smile<br/> For many a mile where troops convene.<br/> O'Connell Street is loudly sweet<br/> With strains of Wearing of the Green.<br/> <br/> The soil of Ireland throbs and glows<br/> With life that knows the hour is here<br/> To strike again like Irishmen<br/> For that which Irishmen hold dear.<br/> <br/> Lord Edward leaves his resting place<br/> And Sarsfield's face is glad and fierce.<br/> See Emmet leap from troubled sleep<br/> To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse!<br/> <br/> There is no rope can strangle song<br/> And not for long death takes his toll.<br/> No prison bars can dim the stars<br/> Nor quicklime eat the living soul.<br/> <br/> Romantic Ireland is not old.<br/> For years untold her youth will shine.<br/> Her heart is fed on Heavenly bread,<br/> The blood of martyrs is her wine.<br/></p> <p><SPAN name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"></SPAN></p> <br/> <div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />