Woe and pain, pain and woe, Are my lot, night and noon, To see your bright face clouded so, Like to the mournful moon. But yet will I rear your throne Again in golden sheen; ’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! ’Tis you shall have the golden throne, ’Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, My dark Rosaleen! Over dews, over sands, Will I fly for your weal: Your holy, delicate white hands Shall girdle me with steel. At home in your emerald bowers, From morning’s dawn till e’en, You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers, My dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! You’ll think of me through daylight’s hours, My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, My dark Rosaleen! I could scale the blue air, I could plough the high hills, Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer, To heal your many ills! And one beamy smile from you Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true, My dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Would give me life and soul anew, A second life, a soul anew, My dark Rosaleen! Oh! the Erne shall run red With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, And flames wrap hill and wood, And gun-peal and slogan-cry Wake many a glen serene, Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, My dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! The Judgment Hour must first be nigh, Ere you shall fade, ere you can die, My dark Rosaleen! WHAT IS WHITE? BY THOMAS MACDONAGH What is white? The soul of the sage, faith-lit, The trust of Age, The infant’s untaught wit. What more white? The face of Truth made known, The Voice of Youth Singing before her throne. WISHES FOR MY SON Born on St. Cecilia’s Day, 1912 BY THOMAS MACDONAGH Now, my son, is life for you-- And I wish you joy of it,-- Joy of power in all you do, Deeper passion, better wit Than I had who had enough, Quicker life and length thereof, More of every gift but love. Love I have beyond all men, Love that now you share with me-- What have I to wish you then But that you be good and free, And that God to you may give Grace in stronger days to live? For I wish you more than I Ever knew of glorious deed, Though no rapture passed me by That an eager heart could heed, Though I followed heights and sought Things the sequel never brought. Wild and perilous holy things Flaming with a martyr’s blood, And the joy that laughs and sings Where a foe must be withstood, Joy of headlong happy chance Leading on the battle dance.