A Fhuil Is Léir Dom ar an Rós

I see His Blood Upon the Rose

I see his blood upon the rose
And in the stars the glory of his eyes,
His body gleams amid eternal snows,
His tears fall from the skies.

I see his face in every flower;
The thunder and the singing of the birds
Are but his voice—and carven by his power
Rocks are his written words.

All pathways by his feet are worn,
His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea,
His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn,
His cross is every tree.

Joseph Mary Plunkett (1887-1916)

A Fhuil Is Léir Dom ar an Rós

A fhuil is léir dom ar an rós,
I ngach aon réalt tá glóir a shúl.
Mar shneachta a cholainn, is ritheann fós
A dheora geala ón spéir anuas.

Is léir a ghnúis i ngach aon bhláth,
An toirneach agus scol gach éin
A ghuth, ar ndóigh – is snoite tá
A chumhacht sa charraig féin.


Is é a shiúil gach cosán dearg,
A chroí a bhogann an tonn tuile,
Fíodh a choróin as gach aon dealg
A chros is beo i ngach aon bhile.