Prism Don tSolas

A bhláith tar chugam
Is múin dom do rúin,

Tóg ó shuaimneas
Is ó shíocháin mé
Arís is go minic

Is taispeán dom
An spleodar agus
An spraoi atá le fáil
Sa neamhghnách,

San ildaite 's
Sa choimhthíoch,
Sa chathair seo
Atá úrnua dom shúile,

Las ionam an splanc
Nár dhóigh le tamall
Agus cuir tús le ré

Rómansúil gheal chorraitheach
Agus aontas breá taitneamhach.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Secret Christmas Sonnet

Shall I compare thee to Summerville House? Thou art more lovely and more permanent. Dim bulbs do not the dozing student rouse, Echoing rooms are not to good prose lent. Sometimes too hot the central heating runs, And often is one's gold attendance dimmed; And every pun from ear sometime declines, By chance, or good taste's changing course, untrimmed; But thy eternal verses shall not fade, Nor lose possession of this craft thou know’st, This Yule thou wand’rest on this gift that's made Of iambic pentameter it grow’st.      So long as men can scribe, or eyes can read,      Long live Alan and the Writers' Society!
Read more