The Poetry Corner

A Bird From The West

By Dora Sigerson Shorter

At the grey dawn, amongst the felling leaves, A little bird outside my window swung, High on a topmost branch he trilled his song, And Ireland! Ireland! Ireland! ever sung. Take me, I cried, back to my island home; Sweet bird, my soul shall ride between thy wings; For my lone spirit wide his pinions spread, And home and home and home he ever sings. We lingered over Ulster stern and wild. I called: Arise! doth none remember me? One turnd in the darkness murmuring, How loud upon the breakers sobs the sea! We rested over Connaught-whispering said: Awake, awake, and welcome!I am here. One woke and shivered at the morning grey; The trees, I never heard them sigh so drear. We flew low over Munster.Long I wept: You used to love me, love me once again! They spoke from out the shadows wondering; Youd think of tears, so bitter falls the rain. Long over Leinster lingered we. Good-bye! My best beloved, good-bye for evermore. Sleepless they tossed and whispered to the dawn; So sad a wind was never heard before. Was it a dream I dreamt?For yet there swings In the grey morn a bird upon the bough, And Ireland! Ireland! Ireland! ever sings. Oh! fair the breaking day in Ireland now.