Mountains of Mourne

To sleep beneath the sky at night
On oilskin and a rug;
No silken spread or pillow white,
Yet all the while besnug.

Immortal million eyes on high
To peep between the pine;
The moon, pale mother of the sky
Their needle shapes define.

Far from the chatter, clatter theme
Once fastened to my ear;
The cruel unsubdued sunbeam,
The dusty atmosphere.

Dust in my eyes, dust in my hair,
Dust in my finger nails,
Dust in the mind. dust everywhere
Eternally prevails.

To the broad bosom of Slieve Ben;
Pure air and a dear day
Dwarfs all significance of men,
Let me return, and stay.

Far away from man's conception
Of what this earth should be,
Up in the garden of the sun,
Close to the Almighty!