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332 And saw a sun that never set And all their hearts' desires were met.

How may the past, if it be dead, Its light within the living shed? Or does the Everliving hold Earth's memories from the Age of Gold? And are our dreams, ardours, and fires But ancient unfulfilled desires? And do they shine within our clay, And do they urge us on their way? As Michael read the Gaelic scroll It seemed the story of the soul And those who wrought, lest there should fail From earth the legend of the Gael, Seemed warriors of Eternal Mind, Still holding in a world grown blind, From which belief and hope had gone, The lovely magic of its dawn.

Thrice on the wheel of time recurred The season of the risen Lord Since Michael left his home behind And faced the chilly Easter wind, And saw the twilight waters gleam And dreamed an unremembered dream. Was it because the Easter time With mystic nature was in chime That memory was roused from sleep, Or was deep calling unto deep? The Lord in man had risen here, From the dark sepulchre of fear, Was wilful, laughing, undismayed, Though on a fragile barricade The bullet rang, the death star broke, The street waved dizzily in smoke, And there the fierce and lovely breath Of flame in the grey mist was death. Yet Michael felt within him rise