Читать книгу Dreams and Images: An Anthology of Catholic Poets - Various - Страница 22

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By P. J. Carroll, C.S.C.

Through the long August day, mantled blue with a sky of Our Lady,

They are there at the well from the dawn till the sea birds go home;

And the trees bending down with broad leaves offer spots that are shady,

Where the heart is at rest, sighing prayers till the shadows are come.

The brown beads and the crucifix pass in procession through fingers

That are pale as the snow or are hardened from labor and pain.

In each Ave they whisper the deep Celtic tenderness lingers,

Like a sweet phrase in song that is echoed and echoed again.

Marching down the white road with the sun in the noon of his splendor

Are the children, with joy in the blue of their innocent eyes;

In their hearts is a song, breaking forth into words that are tender,

Unto her with the gold of the stars and the blue of the skies.

In the still summer air there’s a chorus of minstrelsy breaking,

There are flashes of gold with a flutter and waving of wings:

Mary’s birds are they, come with the dawn, all the green woods forsaking,

Every heart in them breaking for love with the message it brings.

Through the calm August day, with Our Lady’s blue sky far above them,

And beyond the grey mountains where slumbers the Irish green sea,

There they speak to her, weep while they pray to her, beg her to love them,

Till beyond the bright stars where their home and their treasure shall be.