Padraic Colum (8 December 1881 – 11 January 1972 / County Longford)
An Drinaun Donn
A HUNDRED men think I am theirs when with them I
But their presence fades away from me and their high spirits fail
When I think upon your converse kind by the meadow
and the linn,
And your form smoother than the silk on the Mountain of O'Flynn.
Oh, Paddy, is it pain to you that I'm wasting night and day,
And, Paddy, is it grief to you that I'll soon be in the clay?
My first love with the winning mouth, my treasure you'll abide,
Till the narrow coffin closes me and the grass grows through my side.
The man who strains to leap the wall, we think him
When to his hand is the easy ditch to vault across at will;
The rowan tree is fine and high, but bitter its berries grow,
While blackberries and raspberries are on shrubs that blossom low.
Farewell, farewell, forever, to yon town amongst the trees;
Farewell, the town that draws me on mornings and on
Oh, many's the ugly morass now, and many's the crooked
That lie henceforth between me and where my heart's
And Mary, Ever Virgin, where will I turn my head!
I know not where his house is built, nor where his fields are spread.
Ah, kindly was the counsel that my kinsfolk gave to me,
'The hundred twists are in his heart, and the thousand tricks has he.'
Comments about this poem (An Drinaun Donn by Padraic Colum )
HIV Vaccine Awareness Day
observed annually on May 18
International Museum Day
memory + creativity = social change
Happy Birthday Omar Khayyam!
(1048-1131) Persian mathematician, poet, and philosopher
Happy Birthday Friedrich Rückert!
(1788-1866) German poet, translator, and professor of Oriental languages.
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
Still I Rise
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
A Dream Within A Dream
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings