CELTIC SPEECH

    NEVER forgetful silence fall on thee,
        Nor younger voices overtake thee,
    Nor echoes from thine ancient hills forsake thee,
        Old music heard by Mona of the sea :
    And where with moving melodies there break thee,
        Pastoral Conway, venerable Dee.

    Like music lives, nor may that music die,
        Still in the far, fair Gaelic places :
    The speech, so wistful with its kindly graces,
        Holy Croagh Patrick knows, and holy Hy :
    The speech, that wakes the soul in withered faces,
        And wakes remembrance of great things gone by.

    Like music by the desolate Land's End,
        Mournful forgetfulness hath broken :
    No more words kindred to the winds are spoken,
        Where upon iron cliffs whole seas expend
    That strength, whereof the unalterable token
        Remains wild music, even to the world's end.