THE STARS ARE ASTAND

FROM THE IRISH.

The stars are astand on the air,
  The sun and the moon are set,
The swan’s enchantment fails,
  For no strand of the ocean is wet;
And the cuckoo-calls from the trees
  To tell me that she is gone—
The maid of the shining hair!
  And Ireland is left undone.

Three things through this love I see,
  They are sin, and death, and hell,
And the flame that she left in my mind,
  My mind remembers well;
And the pain of the love I gave,
  ’Twere better I never had known,
And, maiden, may God forgive you
  This ruin that strikes me down!

FRANK O’CONNOR

Irish Statesman, 1930-04-06