THROUGH THE GATE OF HORN
Erstwhile I sang of dreams, and built a tower
Where of the fabric was of visions wrought;
And once again a dream of Irish thought
I dreamt, and sang my country’s noble dower;
But since those days I’ve seen the clouds which lower
Over the hapless land, all ruin-fraught,
And oft in vain to sing I’ve sadly sought
Of selfish common sense and worldly power.
The glistening gate of ivory through which came
My fairest dreams, is closed; and through its twin
My soul goes in and out all day and night,
And sees my late-found country’s woes and shame,
Too true these dreams for song, though song can win
The heart and mind with harmony’s delight.