THE FAINT-HEART'S LAMENT
Too far I am from the mountains
That offer chill manna to Heaven;
Too far I am from the sea
Omnivorous under the skyline;
Too far from Niagara's chaos
Where the solid element plays
A cosmic prank on the liquid;
Too far from the haughty redwood,
Living creation beneath him;
From all immense expanses,
Grim homicidal climates.
From jungles, poles and prairies,
From all dominances of aspects.
In her counter-revolution
Is Nature known to Ireland:
Timid, restrained and moderate;
Variegated in meanness;
Elfin, pretty, bashful,
Without beauty, depth or power.
We try to beget our great things
On the insubstantial mists.
Thus did the faint-heart lament.