Away from Ireland - Cathal O’Byrne

Though I’m far and very far away from Ireland,
There’s a. knot. of purple thistles on a cliff above the sea,
Like a silver censer flaming between the sky and me,
The blood-red bells of fuchsias swing around a cabin door,
Where the yellow sunlight showers down to flood the earthen floor,
Far away, and very far away in Ireland.

Though I’m far and very far away from Ireland,
There’s a grey rock ‘mid the heather where the bees hum all the day,
Adown its mossy shoulder trails a crimson briar spray,
Like a craobh of ancient Ogham looked beneath Time’s magic key,
But the beauty of its message is as clear as dawn to me,
Far away, and very far away in Ireland.

Though I’m far and very far away from Ireland,
There’s a turf cart standing idle in a quiet village street,
The hens roosting on its axle in the shadow from the heat,
There’s a barefoot boy beside it looking out towards the sea.
And the birds have far more trouble for the morrow’s morn than he,
Far away, and very far away in Ireland.

Though I’m far and very far away from Ireland,
If the black hand of misfortune had gripped my heavy heart.
If the red blisters of disgrace had made my pale cheek smart,
I'd little heed the trouble or the blame that lay on me,
If climbing on a white road between golden whims I’d be
Far away, and very far away in Ireland.

---

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

Source: The Grey Feet of the Wind by Cathal O'Byrne, Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1917

craobh - branch

Source: The Grey Feet of the Wind by Cathal O'Byrne (1917)