Alice Guerin Crist Poems

We found one evening, in the scrub,
a road the timber-getters made,
a winding, dim, mysterious track,
and we raced down it, half afraid.
...

As we came down the old boreen,
Rose and I – Rose and I,
At vesper time on Sunday e’en,
We heard a banshee cry!
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The harvest moon was shinin’
As Murtagh came from the fair,
And Oh! The scent of the new-mown hay
And the gorsebloom in the air.
...

November days in Ireland
The skies are dull and grey,
But Oh! The clear strong flame of love,
That burns by night and day.
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Oh! Have you stolen out, one summer morning
To pick white crocus ‘neath the garden wall,
Or shaken softly the big scented roses
...

O’Shea was a big railway ganger, clean-hearted, and clean-limbed and shy,
With a glint of grey hair at his temples, and smile in his Irish
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The church was wrapped in darkness save for the alter-light,
And save where near the marble rail six tapers glimmered bright
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Her hair was dark and curly, floatin’ to the saddle bow,
Her laugh was frank and girlish, and her voice was sweet and low;
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Under the wintry skies,
Sundered from home and kin,
With patience and love in her eyes,
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“I thank my god for brother wind,”
So prayed St. Francis long ago
In words of simple, joyous praise,
That fill my heart with sudden glow
...