The Stare’s Nest by my Window
The bees build in the crevices
Of loosening masonry, and there
The mother birds bring grubs and flies.
My wall is loosening; honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty; somewhere
A man is killed, or a house burned.
Yet no clear fact to be discerned:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
A barricade of stone or of wood;
Some fourteen days of civil war:
Last night they trundled down the road
That dead young soldier in his blood:
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
We had fed the heart on fantasies,
The heart's grown brutal from the fare,
More substance in our enmities
Than in our love; O honey-bees,
Come build in the empty house of the stare.
W B Yeats
Nead na Druide Cois M’fhuinneoige
Beacha ag tógáil i scoilteacha
Na saoirseachta scaoilte, is siod í
Máthair an áil le cruimheanna is cuileoga.
Tá an balla ag éirí scaoilte; a bheacha meala
Tagaigí is tógaigí in áras folamh na druide.
Táimid teanntaithe, tá an eochair casta
Ar ár neamhchinnteacht, áit éigin
Fear á lámhach, nó teach ina lasracha.
Is gan fíric ghlé ná léargas:
Tagaigí is tógaigí in áras folamh na druide.
Baracáid cloch nó adhmaid;
Coicís de chogadh cathartha:
Aréir iompraíodh an saighdiúir óg marbh
Síos an bóthar, é féin is a chuid fola:
Tagaigí is tógaigí in áras folamh na druide.
Chothaíomar ár gcroí ar aislingí,
Cothú a d’fhág ár gcroí ar nós na brúide,
Is substaintiúla é ár naimhdeas
Ná ár ngrá: Ó, a bheacha meala
Tagaigí is tógaigí in áras folamh na druide.
