Poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter

A Bird from the West

At the grey dawn, amongst the felling leaves,
   A little bird outside my window swung,
High on a topmost branch he trilled his song,
   And “Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!” ever sung.

Take me, I cried, back to my island home;
   Sweet bird, my soul shall ride between thy wings;
For my lone spirit wide his pinions spread,
   And home and home and home he ever sings.

We lingered over Ulster stern and wild.
   I called: “Arise! doth none remember me?”
One turnèd in the darkness murmuring,
   “How loud upon the breakers sobs the sea!”

We rested over Connaught—whispering said:
   “Awake, awake, and welcome!  I am here.”
One woke and shivered at the morning grey;
   “The trees, I never heard them sigh so drear.”

We flew low over Munster.  Long I wept:
   “You used to love me, love me once again!”
They spoke from out the shadows wondering;
   “You’d think of tears, so bitter falls the rain.”

Long over Leinster lingered we. “Good-bye!
   My best beloved, good-bye for evermore.”
Sleepless they tossed and whispered to the dawn;
   “So sad a wind was never heard before.”

Was it a dream I dreamt?  For yet there swings
   In the grey morn a bird upon the bough,
And “Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!” ever sings.
   Oh! fair the breaking day in Ireland now.

1. Unknown Ideal
2. The Fair Little Maiden
3. The Ballad of the Little Black Hound
4. When I Shall Rise
5. Vale

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