FROM A FULL MOON IN MARCH
 
 PARNELL'S FUNERAL
 
 UNDER the Great Comedian's tomb the crowd.
 A bundle of tempestuous cloud is blown
 About the sky; where that is clear of cloud
 Brightness remains; a brighter star shoots down;
 What shudders run through all that animal blood?
 What is this sacrifice? Can someone there
 Recall the Cretan barb that pierced a star?
 Rich foliage that the starlight glittered through,
 A frenzied crowd, and where the branches sprang
 A beautiful seated boy; a sacred bow;
 A woman, and an arrow on a string;
 A pierced boy, image of a star laid low.
 That woman, the Great Mother imaging,
 Cut out his heart.  Some master of design
 Stamped boy and tree upon Sicilian coin.
 An age is the reversal of an age:
 When strangers murdered Emmet, Fitzgerald, Tone,
 We lived like men that watch a painted stage.
 What matter for the scene, the scene once gone:
 It had not touched our lives.  But popular rage,
 Hysterica passio dragged this quarry down.
 None shared our guilt; nor did we play a part
 Upon a painted stage when we devoured his heart.
 Come, fix upon me that accusing eye.
 I thirst for accusation.  All that was sung.
 All that was said in Ireland is a lie
 Bred out of the c-ontagion of the throng,
 Saving the rhyme rats hear before they die.
 Leave nothing but the nothingS that belong
 To this bare soul, let all men judge that can
 Whether it be an animal or a man.
 The rest I pass, one sentence I unsay.
 Had de Valera eaten parnell's heart
 No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
 No civil rancour torn the land apart.
 Had Cosgrave eaten parnell's heart, the land's
 Imagination had been satisfied,
 Or lacking that, government in such hands.
 O'Higgins its sole statesman had not died.
 Had even O'Duffy – but I name no more –
 Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
 Through Jonathan Swift's clark grove he passed, and there
 plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.