A song from my schooldays.
Down by the sally gardens my love and I did meet;
She passed the sally gardens with little snow-white feet.
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;
But I, being young and foolish, with her did not agree.
In a field down by the river my love and I did stand,
And on my leaning shoulder she placed her snow-white hand.
She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs;
But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.
THE SALLY GARDENS. (Martin Stewart sings W.B. Yeats)
(CLICK TO LISTEN)
How beautiful, Map. You have a lovely voice. I could see raising a glass to your band.
ReplyDeleteHave tried to comment on SoundCloud but it's still spinning in tiny little circles so I've given up on it. I did, however, "like" you on FB.
I like you in real life, too. :-)
Pearl
Too long a sacrifice
ReplyDeleteCan make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For murderous England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse....
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever the green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.
Engrained in mind and lately of ink upon skin. The ticking of time does little to dull the ache. Bring forth not the bigotry but rather the memories of the auld yin as we gazed out of the beautiful cold rain slicked window of Gartnavel. Thin bone protruded through once firm flesh.
His final pride ebbed from deep within him as it leaked alongside the blackened rivulets that ran from his ears, nose and eyes. We wept together as he died in my arms. Two proud men as one, the precious life blood of our city spread out beneath them.
1916, lest we never forget.
Pearl; My day is made if I have touched one person with my voice. Thank you friend.
ReplyDeleteSláinte! :¬)
Anon; Another powerful piece from the same pen.
I would be honoured if your good self would keep an ear out for my next offering.
(Tá 'An Drúcht Ceomhar' ag teacht amárach.) :¬)
Thank you sweetie, that was lovely, I'm sitting with the sun streaming through my window, listening to a beautiful song what more can a girl ask for... uh hum, did you mention a cuppa. ;0} x
ReplyDeleteI'm devastated dear Map because until Tim brings me speakers I have no sound. So cruel - something to look forward to:)
ReplyDelete