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IRELAND
Land of the hidden sun,
Poor land of pensive skies,
—Between whose long grey lids
Glide out long golden eyes:
Land of tyrannic cloud,
—Betray’d by peeping blue,
Where, from her huddled rags,
The native Heaven laughs thro’:
Land of drear noons, with roof
And quaking walls of rain,
—Issuing on royal eves,
Pure fire without one stain:
God spread and spread thy light,
God thrust thy clouds apart,
Land of the tear-fill’d eyes,
Land of the laughing heart!
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