Louis Untermeyer, ed. (18851977). Modern British Poetry. 1920. |
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Eva Gore-Booth. 1872 |
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79. The Waves of Breffny |
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THE grand road from the mountain goes shining to the sea, | |
And there is traffic on it and many a horse and cart, | |
But the little roads of Cloonagh are dearer far to me | |
And the little roads of Cloonagh go rambling through my heart. | |
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A great storm from the ocean goes shouting o'er the hill, | 5 |
And there is glory in it; and terror on the wind: | |
But the haunted air of twilight is very strange and still, | |
And the little winds of twilight are dearer to my mind. | |
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The great waves of the Atlantic sweep storming on their way, | |
Shining green and silver with the hidden herring shoal; | 10 |
But the little waves of Breffny have drenched my heart in spray, | |
And the little waves of Breffny go stumbling through my soul. | |
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