If poetry creates a paradise of its own, and tends to make mankind happier, Ireland has indeed need of song…The days of her mourning are not ended. The dirge of a thousand years still swells over the land of numberless sorrows. The voice of her song is still plaintive over the razed homesteads of her valleys, over the sweltering plague-ship and shattered bark of the Western Main.
—Edward Hayes, The Ballads of Ireland, 1856
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The Irish have an abiding sense of tragedy which sustains them throughout temporary periods of joy.
—Oscar Wilde
Showing posts with label Ireland. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ireland. Show all posts
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