XX . “I am of Ireland” “I
am of Ireland, And
the Holy Land of Ireland, And
time runs on,” cried she. “Come
out of charity, Come
dance with me in Ireland.” One
man, one man alone In
that outlandish gear, One
solitary man Of
all that rambled there Had
turned his stately head. “That
is a long way off, And
time runs on,” he said, “And
the night grows rough.” “I
am of Ireland, And
the Holy Land of Ireland, And
time runs on,” cried she. “Come
out of charity And
dance with me in Ireland.” “The
fiddlers are all thumbs, Or
the fiddle-string accursed, The
drums and the kettledrums And
the trumpets all are burst, And
the trombone,” cried he, “The
trumpet and trombone,” And
cocked a malicious eye, “But
time runs on, runs on.” “I
am of Ireland, And
the Holy Land of Ireland, And
time runs on,” cried she. “Come
out of charity And dance with me in Ireland.” |
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