Category: Poetry
O the cushag flower in a fairy bower Would shine like a star of gold; But when it grows in the farmer's close 'Tis a shocking weed, we're told. Yet common things May have their wings To help our souls above; And wayside weeds, Like kindly deeds, Spring from a father's love.
O the cushag flower in a fairy bower Would shine like a star of gold; But when it grows in the farmer's close 'Tis a shocking weed, we're told. Yet common things May have their...
2. Part 2Oh! the blaze of gorse and heather in the deep'ning glow, With their gold and purple mirrored in the pool below. And the shadows stealing upwards to the drawing night, And the l...
3. Part 3Lone little tholtan, left by the wayside, Where have they wandered that loved thee of old? Where are the children that played by the fireside? Poor little chiollagh, forlorn and...