Joseph Mary Plunkett

Seosamh Máire Pluincéid] (21 November 1887 – 4 May 1916 / Dublin / Ireland

Your Fear

I try to blame
When from your eyes the battle-flame
Leaps: when cleaves my speech the spear
For fear lest I should speak your name:

Your name that’s known
But to your heart, your fear has flown
To mine: you’ve heard not any bird,
No wings have stirred save yours alone.

Alone your wings
Have fluttered: half-forgotten things
Come crowding home into your heart,
Filling your heart with other Springs,

Springs when you’ve sung
Your secret name with happy tongue
Loudly and innocent as the flowers
Through hours of laughter proudly young.

Young is the year
And other wings are waking: near
Your heart my name is knocking loud,
Ah, be not proud! You need not fear.

Fearing lest I
Should wrest your secret from on high
You will not listen to my name,
I cannot blame you though I try.
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