There’s a grey fog over Dublin of the curses,
It blinds my eyes, mavrone, and stops my breath;
And I travel slow that once could run the swiftest,
And I fear ere I meet Mauryeen I’ll meet Death.
There’s a grey fog over Dublin of the curses,
And a grey fog dogs my footsteps as they go,
And it’s long and sore to tread, the road to Connaught.
Is it fault of brogues or feet I fare so slow?
There’s a grey fog over Dublin of the curses,
But the Connaught wind will blow it from my way,
And a Connaught girl will kiss it from my memory,
If the Death that walks beside me will delay.
(There’s a grey fog over Dublin of the curses,
And no wind comes to break its stillness deep;
And a Connaughtman lies on the road to Connaught,
And Mauryeen will not kiss him from his sleep—Ululu!)
(Nora Jane Hopper Chesson)
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Based on Topics: Death & Dying Poems, Memory PoemsBased on Keywords: sleep-, brogues, connaught, mavrone, ululu, mauryeen