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Poem by William Watson


Ireland


In the wild and lurid desert, in the thunder-travelled ways,
'Neath the night that ever hurries to the dawn that still delays,
There she clutches at illusions, and she seeks a phantom goal
With the unattaining passion that consumes the unsleeping soul:
And calamity enfolds her, like the shadow of a ban,
And the niggardness of Nature makes the misery of man:
And in vain the hand is stretched to lift her, stumbling in the gloom,
While she follows the mad fen-fire that conducts her to her doom. 



William Watson

Poem Theme: Ireland

William Watson's other poems:
  1. A Child's Hair
  2. On Exaggerated Deference to Foreign Literary Opinion
  3. On Landor's Hellenics
  4. Sketch of a Political Character
  5. To


Poems of the other poets with the same name:

  • Francis Ledwidge Ireland ("I called you by sweet names by wood and linn")
  • Sidney Lanier Ireland ("Heartsome Ireland, winsome Ireland")
  • Dora Sigerson Shorter Ireland ("'Twas the dream of a God")

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