'Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, <br />It's with O'Leary in the grave.' <br />Then, Yeats, what gave that Easter dawn <br />A hue so radiantly brave? <br />There was a rain of blood that day, <br />Red rain in gay blue April weather. <br />It blessed the earth till it gave birth <br />To valour thick as blooms of heather. <br />Romantic Ireland never dies! <br />O'Leary lies in fertile ground, <br />And songs and spears throughout the years <br />Rise up where patriot graves are found. <br />Immortal patriots newly dead <br />And ye that bled in bygone years, <br />What banners rise before your eyes? <br />What is the tune that greets your ears? <br />The young Republic's banners smile <br />For many a mile where troops convene. <br />O'Connell street is loudly sweet <br />With strains of Wearing of the Green. <br />The soil of Ireland throbs and glows <br />With life that knows the hour is here <br />To strike again like Irishmen <br />For that which Irishmen hold dear. <br />Lord Edward leaves his resting place <br />And Sarsfield's face is glad and fierce. <br />See Emmet leap from troubled sleep <br />To grasp the hand of Padraic Pearse! <br />There is no rope can strangle song <br />And not for long death takes his toll. <br />No prison bars can dim the stars <br />Nor quicklime eat the living soul. <br />Romantic Ireland is not old. <br />For years untold her youth shall shine. <br />Her heart is fed on Heavenly bread, <br />The blood of martyrs is her wine.<br /><br />Alfred Joyce Kilmer<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/easter-week-3/
