Padraic Colum (8 December 1881 – 11 January 1972 / County Longford)
THE stir of children with fresh dresses on,
And men who meet and say unguarded words,
And women from the coops
Of drudgeries released;
And standing at their doors to watch go by
Small pomps with pennons and with first spring-flowers,
And, lifted over them,
Your name that sanctifies.
But you, when you came here, it was to front
Hard-handed men, and trouble them for dues
To stay the fatherless
Portion of what they ploughed.
To claim resource from them whose own resource
Was pittance this you came here to do,
And give for what you gained
Your season of bright youth:
The hunt upon the mountain-side, the dance
Down in the vale; the whisper at the door;
Kiss on unstaying lips
That afterwards would stay;
Music you could have made would make our land
Of noble note and join our different breeds,
And make your name endeared
On roadside and in hall.
All this was changed, as when the warm stream
Setting through ocean toward vine-bearing isles,
Turns its flow toward capes
Where heather only thrives.
That day that was of battles and hard pledges
Has all been changed into this whitened morn-
Music and holiday,
And benediction bells.
Comments about this poem (A Saint by Padraic Colum )
Beautiful Paintings On Books
by Ekaterina Panikanova
You Too Can Learn to Write Surrealist Poetry
Spudnik Press is offering a workshop in surrealist poetry
Distasteful Fashion Shoot Featuring Author Suicides is Pulled
The spread is called 'Last Words.'
Autistic Pride Day
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings