The golden hill where long-forgotten kings
Keep lonely watch upon their feasting floor
Is silent now, the Dagda's harp no more
Makes sun and moon move to its murmurous
strings;
And never in the leafy star-led Springs
Will Caer and Aengus haunt the river
shore,
For deep beneath an ogham-carven door
Dust dulls the dew-white wonder of their
wings.
Yet one may linger loving the lost dream
The magic of the heart that cannot die,
Although the Rood destroy the quicken rods;
To him through earth and air and hollow
stream
Wild music winds, as two swans wheeling cry
Above the cromlech of the vanished gods.
Thomas Samuel Jones Jr (1882-1932)
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
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