Hanrahan Speaks to the Lovers of His Songs in Coming Days
O, colleens, kneeling by your altar rails long hence,When songs I wove for my beloved hide the prayer,And smoke from this dead heart drifts through the violet airAnd covers away the smoke of myrrh and frankincense;Bend down and pray for the great sin I wove in song,Till Maurya of the wounded heart cry a sweet cry,And call to my beloved and me: 'No longer fly'Amid the hovering, piteous, penitential throng.'
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