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Megalithic Poems
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tjj
tjj
3606 posts

Re: Rite
May 17, 2011, 18:48
Rite
Above my door the rushy cross,
the turf upon my hearth,
for I am of the Irishry
by nurture and by birth:

And let no patriot decry,
nor Kelt dispute my claim,
for I still hold the faith was here
before St. Patrick came.

The healing well was known to me,
the magic of the thorn,
the menace of the cursing stones,
long years ere I was born.

Before men swung the crooked scythe
I aimed my hook with care,
and from the stook-lined harvest field
bore off the platted Hare.

And yesterday as I came down
where Oisin’s grave-stones stand,
the holly branch with berries hung
rose upright in my hand.

John Hewitt (1907-1987)
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