Saturday, September 18

A poem for Thursday.

Well it should have been for Thursday, but you know how time slips away from you.
This is from the book, A Rich And Rare Land...Irish Poetry and Paintings.


We are the music -makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea breakers,
And sitting by desolate streams;-
World-losers and world forsakers,
On whom the pale moon gleams:
Yet we are the movers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.

With wonderful deathless ditties
We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory:
One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown;
And three with a new song's measure
Can trample an empire down.

We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Ninevah with our sighing,
And Babel itself with our mirth;
And o'erthrew them with prophesying
To the old of the new world's worth;
For each dream is a dream that is dying,
Or one that is coming to birth.

Arthur O'Shaughnessy

so I wonder...are we a dream that is dying or one that is coming to birth...or is that the dilemma of every time in history? Only time itself will tell!


  1. oh, i can tell this is going to be my newest favorite
    blog, as i love all things irish!

    thank you for the lovely poem i will think on your

  2. Continuous creation, I'm thinking - which also means forever dying, of course.

  3. Thankyou..myletterstoemily..I hope that it all lives up to your expectations!
    Dave.. thankyou for that thought. I love the words of Betjeman, " If we do not daily die to things and thoughts in our lives, we will not be ready for the big death" Good old poet!

  4. I love that...thank you for sharing this :)


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