THE MAN WHO TROD ON SLEEPING GRASS
In a field by Cahirconlish
I stood on sleeping grass,
No cry I made to Heaven
Prom my dumb lips would pass.
Three days, three nights I slumbered,
And till I woke again
Those I have loved have sought me,
And sorrowed all in vain.
My neighbours still upbraid me,
And murmur as I pass,
“There goes a man enchanted.
He trod on fairy grass.”
My little ones around me,
They claim my old caress,
I push them roughly from me
With hands that cannot bless.
My wife upon my shoulder
A bitter tear lets fall,
I turn away in anger
And love her not at all.
For like a man surrounded.
In some sun-haunted lane.
By countless wings that follow,
A grey and stinging chain,
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