Our birth is..
Many time Man lives and dies,
Between his two eternities,
That of race and that of soul,
And ancient Ireland knew it all,
Wheter man die in his bed
On the rifle knocks him dead,
A brief parting from those dear
Is the worst Man have to fear.
Though Grave-diggers’ toil is long,
Sharp their spades their muscles strong,
They but thrust their buried men
Back in the human man again…
