Here where winter oppresses us
  Still we listen and doubt,
    Dreading a hope betrayed: 
Sore we long to be greeting him,
  Still we linger and doubt
    “What if his march be stayed?”

Folk in thrall to the enemy,
  Vanquished, tilling a soil
    Hateful and hostile grown;
Always wearily, warily,
  Feeding deep in the heart
    Passion they dare not own—–­

So we wait the deliverer;
  Surely soon shall he come,
    Soon shall his hour be due: 
Spring shall come with his greenery,
  Life be lovely again,
    Earth be the home we knew.

Pereunt Et Imputantur

(After Martial)

Bernard, if to you and me
  Fortune all at once should give
Years to spend secure and free,
  With the choice of how to live,
Tell me, what should we proclaim
Life deserving of the name?

Winning some one else’s case? 
  Saving some one else’s seat? 
Hearing with a solemn face
  People of importance bleat? 
No, I think we should not still
Waste our time at others’ will.

Summer noons beneath the limes,
  Summer rides at evening cool,
Winter’s tales and home-made rhymes,
  Figures on the frozen pool—–­
These would we for labours take,
And of these our business make.

Ah! but neither you nor I
  Dare in earnest venture so;
Still we let the good days die
  And to swell the reckoning go. 
What are those that know the way,
Yet to walk therein delay?

Felix Antonius

(After Martial)

To-day, my friend is seventy-five;
  He tells his tale with no regret;
  His brave old eyes are steadfast yet,
His heart the .lightest heart alive.

He sees behind him green and wide
  The pathway of his pilgrim years;
  He sees the shore, and dreadless hears
The whisper of the creeping tide.

For out of all his days, not one
  Has passed and left its unlaid ghost
  To seek a light for ever lost,
Or wail a deed for ever done.

So for reward of life-long truth
  He lives again, as good men can,
  Redoubling his allotted span
With memories of a stainless youth.

Ireland, Ireland

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
  Down thy valleys green and sad,
Still thy spirit wanders wailing,
  Wanders wailing, wanders mad.

Long ago that anguish took thee,
  Ireland, Ireland, green and fair,
Spoilers strong in darkness took thee,
  Broke thy heart and left thee there.

Down thy valleys, Ireland, Ireland,
  Still thy spirit wanders mad;
All too late they love that wronged thee,
  Ireland, Ireland, green and sad.

Hymn