To Eire

To Thee, Beloved, of old there came

The sailers of a thousand ships

Who learned to love Thy hidden name,

And love the music on Thy lips;

But some, who thought to build Thy pyre

And on its ruin rear a throne,

Have loved to sit around Thy fire

And count Thy saddest songs their own;

And sons of Thine, who broke love's bands

To seek a fabled far-off shore,

Grope thro' the world with aching hands,

And hunger for Thee evermore;

For, tho' Thy sorrow may not cease,

Tho', blessing, Thou are still unblest,

Thou has for men a Gift of Peace,

O Daughter of Divine Unrest!