Poem – The Poor Girl’s Meditation- Padraic Colum

I am  sitting here 

Since the moon rose in the night, 

Kindling a fire, 

And striving to keep it alight; 

The folk of the house are lying 

In slumber deep; 

The geese will be gabbling soon: 

The whole of the land is asleep. 
May I never leave this world 

Until my ill-luck is gone; 

Till I have cows and sheep, 

And the lad that I love for my own; 

I would not think it long, 

The night I would lie at his breast, 

And the daughters of spite, after that, 

Might say the thing they liked best. 
Love takes the place of hate, 

If a girl have beauty at all: 

On a bed that was narrow and high, 

A three-month I lay by the wall: 

When I bethought on the lad 

That I left on the brow of the hill, 

I wept from dark until dark, 

And my cheeks have the tear-tracks still. 
And, O young lad that I love, 

I am no mark for your scorn; 

All you can say of me is 

Undowered I was born: 

And if I’ve no fortune in hand, 

Nor cattle and sheep of my own, 

This I can say, O lad, 

I am fitted to lie my lone!

Poem – Snake – Padraic Colum

But, Snake, you must not come where we abide, 

For you would tempt us; we should hear you say: 
‘Oh, somewhere was a world was cold and spare, 

And voiceless; somewhere was a Being was not 
Engrossed with substance, with no fervencies 

Of love and hatred, and he made me, Snake! 
The wise Elohim, they who made the rest 

Of Creatures, made them ail-too manifold 
Mortised and rampired, jointed, vascular; 

And I was put an alien in their world, 
All head, all spine, all limb, all loin, 

Swift as a bird and single as a fish.’ 
Above you fruits unglanced at bend and glow, 

And, bare and voiceless, you do tempt us, Snake!

Poem – The Poet – Padraic Colum

‘The blackbird’s in the briar, 

The seagull’s on the ground- 

They are nests, and they’re more than nests,’ he said, 

‘They are tokens I have found. 
There, where the rain-dashed briar 

Marks an empty glade, 

The blackbird’s nest is seen,’ he said, 

‘Clay-rimmed, uncunningly made. 
By shore of the inland lake, 

Where surgeless water shoves, 

The seagulls have their nests,’ he said, 

‘As low as catties’ hooves.’ 
I heard a poet say it, 

The sojourner of a night; 

His head was up to the rafter, 

Where he stood in candles’ light. 
‘Your houses are like the seagulls’ 

Nests they are scattered and low; 

Like the blackbirds’ nests in briars,’ he said, 

‘Uncunningly made even so. 
But close to the ground are reared 

The wings that have widest sway, 

And the birds that sing best in the wood,’ he said, 

‘Were reared with breasts to the clay. 
You’ve wildness I’ve turned it to song; 

You’ve strength I’ve turned it to wings; 

The welkin’s for your conquest then, 

The wood to your music rings.’ 
I heard a poet say it, 

The sojourner of a night; 

His head was up to the rafter, 

Where he stood in candles’ light.

Poem – A Mountaineer – Padraic Colum

ERE Beowulf’s song 

Was heard from the ships, 

Ere Roland had set 

The horn to his lips: 
In Ogham strokes 

A name was writ: 

That name his name 

Lives in yet. 
The strokes on the edge 

Of the stone might count 

The acres he has 

On this bare mount; 
But he remembers 

The pillar-stone, 

And knows that he is 

Of the seed of Eoin.