has not altered;—
    a place as kind as it is green,
    the greenest place I’ve never seen.
Every name is a tune.
Denunciations do not affect
      the culprit; nor blows, but it
is torture to him to not be spoken to.
They’re natural, —
        the coat, like Venus’
mantle lined with stars,
buttoned close at the neck, — the sleeves new from disuse.

If in Ireland
    they play the harp backward at need,
    and gather at midday the seed
of the fern, eluding
their ‘giants all covered with iron,’ might
      there be fern seed for unlearn-
ing obduracy and for reinstating
the enchantment?
        Hindered characters
seldom have mothers
in Irish stories, but they all have grandmothers.

It was Irish;
    a match not a marriage was made
    when my great great grandmother’d said
with native genius for
disunion, ‘Although your suitor be
      perfection, one objection
is enough; he is not
Irish.’ Outwitting
        the fairies, befriending the furies,
whoever again
and again says, ‘I’ll never give in,’ never sees
that you’re not free
    until you’ve been made captive by
    supreme belief,— credulity
you say? When large dainty
fingers tremblingly divide the wings
      of the fly for mid-July
with a needle and wrap it with peacock-tail,
or the wool and
        buzzard’s wing, their pride,
like the enchanter’s,
is in care, not madness. Concurring hands divide

flax for damask
    that when bleached by Irish weather
    has the silvered chamois-leather
water-tightness of a
skin. Twisted torcs and gold new-moon-shaped
      lunulae aren’t jewelry
like the purple-coral fuchsia-tree’s. Eire—
the guillemot
        so neat and the hen
of the heath and the
linnet spinet-sweet’—bespeak relentlessness? Then

they are to me
    like enchanted Earl Gerald who
    changed himself into a stag, to
a great green-eyed cat of
the mountain. Discommodity makes
      them invisible; they’ve dis-
appeared. The Irish say your trouble is their
trouble and your
        joy their joy? I wish
I could believe it. I’m dissatisfied, I’m Irish.

Readings

Spenser's Ireland read by Elizabeth McGovern
© Copyright 2025 The Josephine Hart Poetry Foundation. A charity registered in England and Wales number 1145062.