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The air is like a butterfly
With frail blue wings.
The happy earth looks at the sky
And sings.

(In memory of Joseph Mary Plunkett)


("Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,
It's with O'Leary in the grave.")
William Butler Yeats.



"Romantic Ireland's dead and gone,...

My hands were stained with blood, my heart was proud and cold,
My soul is black with shame . . . but I gave Shakespeare gold.
So after aeons of flame, I may, by grace of God,...