William Butler Yeats

I Am Of Ireland

'I am of Ireland, And the Holy Land of Ireland, And time runs on,' cried she. 'Come out of charity, Come dance with me in Ireland. ' One man, one man alone In that outlandish gear, One solitary man Of all that rambled there Had turned his stately head. That is a long way off, And time runs on,' he said, 'And the night grows rough. ' 'I am of Ireland, And the Holy Land of Ireland, And time runs on,' cried she. 'Come out of charity And dance with me in Ireland. ' 'The fiddlers are all thumbs, Or the fiddle-string accursed, The drums and the kettledrums And the trumpets all are burst, And the trombone,' cried he, 'The trumpet and trombone,' And cocked a malicious eye, 'But time runs on, runs on. ' I am of Ireland, And the Holy Land of Ireland, And time runs on,' cried she. "Come out of charity And dance with me in Ireland. '