Poem by Thomas MacDonagh

May Day

I wish I were to-day on the hill behind the wood,--
My eyes on the brown bog there and the Shannon river,--
Behind the wood at home, a quickened solitude
When the winds from Slieve Bloom set the branches there a-quiver.

The winds are there now and the green of May
On every feathery tree-bough, tender on every hedge:
Over the bog-fields there larks carol to-day,
And a cuckoo is mocking them out of the woodland's edge.

Here a country warmth is quiet on the rocks
That alone make never a change when the May is duly come;
Here sings no lark, and to-day no cuckoo mocks:
Over the wide hill a hawk floats, and the leaves are dumb. 

1. Dublin Tramcars
2. The Stars Stand up in the Air
3. Averil
4. In the Storm
5. Of the Man of My First Play

Bernard O'Dowd May Day ("Come Jack, our place is with the ruck")

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