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Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.  
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part  
To murmur name upon name,  
As a mother names her child  
When sleep at last has come  
On limbs that had run wild.  
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;  
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith  
For all that is done and said.  
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;  
And what if excess of love  
Bewildered them till they died?  
I write it out in a verse--
MacDonagh and MacBride  
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:  
A terrible beauty is born.

Index of Frank's Diaries
by Frank Schnittger (mail Frankschnittger at hot male dotty communists) on Mon Oct 2nd, 2017 at 11:21:08 AM EST

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