Friday, 13 February 2015

The Grey Feet of the Wind - Cathal O’Byrne

I followed in the track of the Grey Feet
     of The Wind,
Where Black Clouds ran across the Moon
     adown a Sullen Sky
Like a Herd of Frightened Cattle with
     Harrying Wolves behind
And dark pines stretched gaunt arms to
     me as I went shuddering by.

Past many a Grey Cairn Stone I went—
     the mad wind whistling on—
With the Dead Dust of Years clogging my
     eyes and breath,
Till White Spears flashed in the East, and
     the Red Wind of Dawn
Fanned into flame the Passion Fires, the
     Fires of Life and Death.

On where Night's dream Fires are quencht,
     and Dawn’s wide gates unclose,
Through cool white mists of Morning, out
     from the World away,
To where the Sapphire turns to Flame, the
     Ruby burns in the Rose,
And the Silver Bars that are tipped with
     Stars melt in the Heart of Day.

I followed in the track of the Grey Feet
     of The Wind,
O, Dew-wet Wind of Morning, what word
     have ye to say?
O, Life is bitter, and Love is sweet, and
     only Death is kind,
For Life is Hope, and Love is Life, and
     Life is Death alway.

Cathal O’Byrne (1867 – 1957) Ireland
(also sometimes listed as Cathal O'Bryne)

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