Poems (Tynan)/Spring Longing
SPRING LONGING
Often I wish that I might be, This gay and golden weather, Among my father's fields, ah, me! And he and I together.
Below the mountains, fair and dim, My father's fields are spreading. I'd rather tread the sward with him Than I would dance at a wedding.
O green and fresh your English sod With daisies sprinkled over; But greener far were the fields I trod, And the honeyed Irish clover.
O, well your skylark cleaves the blue To bid the sun good-morrow; He has not the bonny song I knew High over an Irish furrow.
And often, often, Fm longing still, This gay and golden weather,For my father's face by an Irish hill, And he and I together.