And they're all of them returning to the heavens they have known: They are crammed and jammed in busses and-they're each of them alone In the land where the dead dreams go. There's a labourer that listens to the voices of the dead In the City as the sun sinks low; And his hand begins to tremble and his face is rather red As he sees a loafer watching him and—there he turns his head And stares into the sunset where his April love is fled, For he hears her softly singing and his lonely soul is led Through the land where the dead dreams go There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street In the City as the sun sinks low; Though the music's only Verdi there's a world to make it sweet Just as yonder yellow sunset where the earth and heaven meet Mellows all the sooty City! Hark, a hundred thousand feet Are marching on to glory through the poppies and the wheat In the land where the dead dreams go. So it's Jeremiah, Jeremiah, What have you to say When you meet the garland girls All around my gala hat I wear a wreath of roses The reason why I wear it is My own love, my true love is coming And it's buy a bunch of violets for the lady (It's lilac-time in London; it's lilac-time in London!) Buy a bunch of violets for the lady; While the sky burns blue above: On the other side the street you'll find it shady (It's lilac-time in London; it's lilac-time in London!) But buy a bunch of violets for the lady, And tell her she's your own true love. There's a barrel-organ carolling across a golden street In the City as the sun sinks glittering and slow; And the music's not immortal; but the world has made it sweet And enriched it with the harmonies that make a song complete In the deeper heavens of music where the night and morn ing meet, As it dies into the sunset glow; And it pulses through the pleasures of the City and the pain That surround the singing organ like a large eternal light, And they've given it a glory and a part to play again In the Symphony that rules the day and night. And there, as the music changes, And the wheeling world remembers all Once more La Traviata sighs A tale of deeper wrong; Once more the knights to battle go With sword and shield and lance Till once, once more, the shattered foe Come down to Kew in lilac-time, in lilac-time, in lilac time; Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) And you shall wander hand in hand with Love in summer's wonderland, Come down to Kew in lilac-time (it isn't far from London!) EPILOGUE (From "The Flower of Old Japan") Carol, every violet has Every little valley lies Every little cottage stands Seas no ship has ever sailed. All the shores when day is done So the story tries to teach More than can be told in speech. Beauty is a fading flower, We have come by curious ways Deep in every heart it lies. For what heaven should bend above Carol, Carol, we have come Back to heaven, back to home. Padraic Colum Padraic Colum was born at Longford, Ireland (in the same county as Oliver Goldsmith), December 8, 1881, and was educated at the local schools. At 20 he was a member of a group that created the Irish National Theatre, afterwards called The Abbey Theatre. Colum began as a dramatist with Broken Soil (1904), The Land (1905), Thomas Muskerry (1910), and this early dramatic influence has colored much of his work, his best poetry being in the form of dramatic lyrics. Wild Earth, his most notable collection of verse, first appeared in 1909, and an amplified edition of it was published in America in 1916. THE PLOUGHER Sunset and silence! A man: around him earth savage, earth broken; Beside him two horses-a plough! |