Seumas O' Sullivan
Though his work was not in the upper ranks with the likes of Yeats or Heaney, I think this poem is about nearly perfect. It might be a tad sentimental, but afterall, it's a lullaby, and a very beautiful one at that. I'm 50% Irish, and I and my 100% Irish mother, Kathleen, have just made amends after a terrible row that lasted several weeks. Just wanted to share this here tonight with any who might enjoy it, and for the memory of a darn good poet.
Lullaby
Husheen, the herons are crying,
Away in the rain and the sleet,
Flying and flying and flying
With never a rest for their feet.
But warm in your coverlet nestle,
Wee Bird, till the dawn of the day,
Nor dream of the wild wings that wrestle
In the night and the rain and the grey.
Come, sweetheart, the bright ones would bring you
By the magical meadows and streams,
With the light of your dreaming they build you
A house on the hill of your dreams.
But you stir in your sleep and you murmur,
As though the wild rain and the grey
Wet hills, with the winds ever blowing
Had driven your dreams away.
And dearer the wind in its crying,
And the secrets the wet hills hold,
Than the goldenest place they could find you
In the heart of a country of gold.
- Seumas O'Sullivan (1879-1958)
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