THE IRISH PIPES.

THE IRISH PIPES.
447.2

I heard the piper playing.
The piper old and blind:
And know its secret saying-
The voice of the summer wind.

I heard clear waters falling,
Lapping from stone to stone.
The wood dove crying and calling.
Ever alone, alone.

I heard the bells of the heather
Ring in the summer breeze,
Soft stir of fur and feather
And quiet hum of bees.

The piper drew me yearning
Into the dim gray lands.
Where there is no returning
Although I wring my hands.

There to the poper’s crooning
I saw my dead again.
All in a happy nooning
Of golden sun and rain.

You piper, kind and hoary,
Your pipes upon your knee.
If I should tell my story
The things you piped for me,

The folks would have their selling.
And bid their buying gо,
If I could but be telling
The things you let me know.
-Katharine Tynan.