Wearin' of the Green
Elegiac songs of Eire
lay ‘neath sprigs of green
where the Fenians sleep
and sallow-hued descendents
sing of fair-haired boys,
lives to resolution swift-brought,
brigades of indiscretions
burnt on pyres of bravery!
Escape of the fire
of musket and fraught-peril
waxen faces waiting to be formed
far flung-souls of wildest repute
sing they the harpist’s bravest:
“with a pike upon your shoulder
by the risin’ of the moon!”
Weep to Kevin Barry while
full-throated they wonder if
war be invented for whiskey
or whiskey for war?
Sing-burn they with the energy of youth:
- “another martyr for ol’ Ireland
another murther for the Crown”
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