William Butler Yeats

The O'Rahilly

Sing of the O'Rahilly, Do not deny his right; Sing a 'the' before his name; Allow that he, despite All those learned historians, Established it for good; He wrote out that word himself, He christened himself with blood. How goes the weather? Sing of the O'Rahilly That had such little sense He told Pearse and Connolly He'd gone to great expense Keeping all the Kerry men Out of that crazy fight; That he might be there himself Had travelled half the night. How goes the weather? 'Am I such a craven that I should not get the word But for what some travelling man Had heard I had not heard?' Then on pearse and Connolly He fixed a bitter look: 'Because I helped to wind the clock I come to hear it strike.' How goes the weather? What remains to sing about But of the death he met Stretched under a doorway Somewhere off Henry Street; They that found him found upon The door above his head 'Here died the O'Rahilly. R.I.P.' writ in blood. How goes the weather.?

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