Connemara

      CONNEMARA
      by F. R. Higgins

THE soft rain is falling
   Round bushy isles,
Veiling the waters
   Over wet miles,
And hushing the grasses
   Where plovers call,
While soft clouds are falling
   Over all.

I pulled my new curragh
   Through the clear sea
And left the brown sailings
   Far behind me,
For who would not hurry
   Down to the isle,
Where Una has lured me
   With a smile.

She moves through her sheiling
   Under the haws,
Her movements are softer
   Than kitten's paws;
And shiny blackberries
   Sweeten the rain,
Where I haunt her beaded
   Window-pane.

I would she were heeding-
   Keeping my tryst-
That soft moon of amber
   Blurred in the mist,
And rising the plovers
   Where salleys fall,
Till slumbers come hushing
   One and all.