Alone.
For I had left the fetich of life behind,
And in the darkness stumbled wearily on,
Going I knew not whither. Things I did
That to myself seemed strange and meaningless,
But still pursued my erring, lonely way.
Much did I yearn to know - nor got reply.
So, worse than sad, I felt that I had dreamed,
Was dreaming, and would dream till the end of it all-
If end there be.
Just then I sat me down awhile to rest;
And with my heavy eyes I vainly sought
A refuge from the gloom, but all was dark.
Despairingly I turned and looked behind,
The way that I had come, and there beheld
A bower illuminated with soft, rosy light.
Instinctively I knew it was home
Of living love; and thither I resolved
To wend my way.
Whilst thinking thus I heard the heart-born sigh
Of one approaching slowly through the night,
Seeking, like me, the distant bower of love.
Weary she was; so having come quite near,
She sat beside me, and in sympathy
I took her hand, but spoke not any word,
For ours was sorrow kindred. She but came
Nearer to me, until with joy I felt
Her loosened tresses fluttering at my cheek-
Then did I boldly take YOU in my arms,
And kiss your yielding lips; whereat behold,
WE stood illuminated in soft rosy light!
Wonderingly we saw, till that we gazed
Each in the other's eyes; then we both knew
That HERE was LOVE.
-John F. Byrne
Written August 1898 after visiting
Lugnaquilla and Vinegar Hill.
(from his book, "Silent Years: An Autobiography with Memoirs of James Joyce and Our Ireland")
[Farrar, Straus and Young, Inc., 1953]
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