Poem to Ireland

I give my heart to thee, O mother- land,
I, if none else, recall the sacred womb,
I, if none else, behold the loving eyes
Bend over on thy myriad progeny
Who care not nor regard thee as they go,
O tender, sorrowing, weeping, hoping land
I give my heart to thee, O mother land

I give my heart to thee, heroic land,
To thee or in thy morning when the Sunday flashed on thy giant limbs- thy lurid noon-
Or in thy depth of night,
Fierce-thoughted one,
Wrestling with phantoms
Of thy own wild soul
Or, stone-still, silent, waiting for the dawn,
I give my heart to thee, heroic land.

I give my heart to thee, ideal land,
Far-soaring sister of the starry throng,
O fleet of wing what journeyings are thing,
What goal, what God attracts thee?

What unseen glory reflected
Makes thy face a flame?
Leave me not, where thou goest, let me go.
I give my heart to thee ideal land.

Standish O Grady