I SAW the Connaught Rangers when they were passing by, <br />On a spring day, a good day, with gold rifts in the sky. <br />Themselves were marching steadily along the Liffey quay <br />An' I see the young proud look of them as if it were to-day! <br />The bright lads, the right lads, I have them in my mind, <br />With the green flags on their bayonets all fluttering in the wind. <br /> <br />A last look at old Ireland, a last good-bye maybe, <br />Then the gray sea, the wide sea, my grief upon the sea! <br />And when will they come home, says I, when will they see once more <br />The dear blue hills of Wicklow and Wexford's dim gray shore? <br />The brave lads of Ireland, no better lads you'll find, <br />With the green flags on their bayonets all fluttering in the wind! <br /> <br />Three years have passed since that spring day, sad years for them and me. <br />Green graves there are in Serbia and in Gallipoli. <br />And many who went by that day along the muddy street <br />Will never hear the roadway ring to their triumphant feet. <br />But when they march before Him, God's welcome will be kind, <br />And the green flags on their bayonets will flutter in the wind.<br /><br />Winifred Mary Letts<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-connaught-rangers/
