Originale | Irish version of the poem / Versione irlandese della poesia /... |
THOMAS MACDONAGH | THOMAS MACDONAGH |
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He shall not hear the bittern cry | Ní chloisfidh sé an bonnán buí |
In the wild sky, where he is lain, | Sa spéir fhiáin, is é ina luí, |
Nor voices of the sweeter birds, | Ná cantain shéimh na n-éan binn |
Above the wailing of the rain. | Os cionn ghol na báistí. |
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Nor shall he know when loud March blows | Ná nuair a shéidfidh Márta garbh |
Thro' slanting snows her fanfare shrill, | A bhlosc garg trí shneachta mín |
Blowing to flame the golden cup | Is lasair curtha aige cheana |
Of many an upset daffodil. | Faoi lusanna an chromchinn. |
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But when the Dark Cow leaves the moor, | Ach nuair nach insan riasc níos mó |
And pastures poor with greedy weeds, | A bheidh an Bhó ach ar thalamh slán |
Perhaps he'll hear her low at morn, | Sea cloisfidh sé a géimneach fós |
Lifting her horn in pleasant meads. | A hadharc ag lonrú ar an mbán. |