I Am Not Yet Born; O Fill

And I Envy The Intransigence Of My Own Countrymen Who Shoot To Kill And Never See The Victim's Face Become Their Own Or Find His Motive Sabotage Their Motives.

Why Do We Like Being Irish? Partly Because It Gives Us A Hold On The Sentimental English As Members Of A World That Never Was, Baptized With Fairy Water

Today I Am So At Home In Dublin, More Than In Any Other City, That I Feel It Has Always Been Familiar To Me. But, As With Belfast It Took Me Years To Penetrate Its Outer Ugliness And Dourness, So With Dublin It Took Me Years To See Through Its Soft Charm To Its Bitter Prickly Kernel - Which I Quite Like Too.

Time Was Away And Somewhere Else, There Were Two Glasses And Two Chairs And Two People With One Pulse.

September Has Come, It Is Hers Whose Vitality Leaps In The Autumn, Whose Nature Prefers Trees Without Leaves And A Fire In The Fireplace. So I Give Her This Month And The Next Though The Whole Of My Year Should Be Hers Who Has Rendered Already So Many Of Its Days Intolerable Or Perplexed But So Many More So Happy. Who Has Left A Scent On My Life, And Left My Walls Dancing Over And Over With Her Shadow Whose Hair Is Twined In All My Waterfalls And All Of London Littered With Remembered Kisses.