Connemara morning early
iron grey sky
scarping waves
of sharp and tempered steel
and a sun barely creeping
on peaty bog
and marshy sheep-shod field
here dwelt the silent ones
fertile gods of Erin's clan
who fed the earth
and coaxed the land
solemn faces watch us still
through smoky mist
on emerald hill

Like wild geese, fishermen
and monks landed here, others

sailed on and discovered America
but they came back

by the north, Thule
where it rains glowing stones

where the land burns and the rocks
swim between boiling fountains

There are the gates of hell
and the paths to heaven

invisible above the clouds
around huge curtains of ice

They came back to tell
about these wonders, too biblical

to want to keep it secret
from their family and friends

And the new world
they forgot