TO IRELAND IN THE COMING TIMES
 
 iKnow, that I would accounted be
 True brother of a company
 That sang, to sweeten Ireland's wrong,
 Ballad and story, rann and song;
 Nor be I any less of them,
 Because the red-rose-bordered hem
 Of her, whose history began
 Before God made the angelic clan,
 Trails all about the written page.
 When Time began to rant and rage
 The measure of her flying feet
 Made Ireland's heart hegin to beat;
 And Time bade all his candles flare
 To light a measure here and there;
 And may the thoughts of Ireland brood
 Upon a measured guietude.
 Nor may I less be counted one
 With Davis, Mangan, Ferguson,
 Because, to him who ponders well,
 My rhymes more than their rhyming tell
 Of things discovered in the deep,
 Where only body's laid asleep.
 For the elemental creatures go
 About my table to and fro,
 That hurry from unmeasured mind
 To rant and rage in flood and wind,
 Yet he who treads in measured ways
 May surely barter gaze for gaze.
 Man ever journeys on with them
 After the red-rose-bordered hem.
 Ah, faerics, dancing under the moon,
 A Druid land, a Druid tune.!
 While stiIl I may, I write for you
 The love I lived, the dream I knew.
 From our birthday, until we die,
 Is but the winking of an eye;
 And we, our singing and our love,
 What measurer Time has lit above,
 And all benighted things that go
 About my table to and fro,
 Are passing on to where may be,
 In truth's consuming ecstasy,
 No place for love and dream at all;
 For God goes by with white footfall.
 I cast my heart into my rhymes,
 That you, in the dim coming times,
 May know how my heart went with them
 After the red-rose-bordered hem.