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letra de easter 1916 - michael macliammoir

i have met them at close of day
coming with vivid faces
from counter or desk among grey
eighteenth-century houses
i have passed with a nod of the head
or polite meaningless words
or have lingered awhile and said
polite meaningless words
and thought before i had done
of a mocking tale or a gibe
to please a companion
around the fire at the club
being certain that they and i
but lived where motley is worn:
all changed, changed utterly:
a terrible beauty is born

that woman’s days were spent
in ignorant good-will
her nights in argument
until her voice grew shrill
what voice more sweet than hers
when, young and beautiful
she rode to harriers?
this man had kept a school
and rode our wingèd horse;
this other his helper and friend
was coming into his force;
he might have won fame in the end
so sensitive his nature seemed
so daring and sweet his thought
this other man i had dreamed
a drunken, vainglorious lout
he had done most bitter wrong
to some who are near my heart
yet i number him in the song;
he, too, has resigned his part
in the casual comedy;
he, too, has been changed in his turn
transformed utterly:
a terrible beauty is born
hearts with one purpose alone
through summer and winter seem
enchanted to a stone
to trouble the living stream
the horse that comes from the road
the rider, the birds that range
from cloud to tumbling cloud
minute by minute they change;
a shadow of cloud on the stream
changes minute by minute;
a horse-hoof slides on the brim
and a horse plashes within it;
the long-legged moor-hens dive
and hens to moor-c-cks call;
minute by minute they live:
the stone’s in the midst of all

too long a sacrifice
can make a stone of the heart
o when may it suffice?
that is heaven’s part, our part
to murmur name upon name
as a mother names her child
when sleep at last has come
on limbs that had run wild
what is it but nightfall?
no, no, not night but death;
was it needless death after all?
for england may keep faith
for all that is done and said
we know their dream; enough
to know they dreamed and are dead;
and what if excess of love
bewildered them till they died?
i write it out in a verse—
macdonagh and macbride
and connolly and pe-rs-
now and in time to be
wherever green is worn
are changed, changed utterly:
a terrible beauty is born

- michael macliammoir

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