O stony grey soil of Monaghan br The laugh from my love you thieved; br You took the gay child of my passion br And gave me your clod-conceived. br br You clogged the feet of my boyhood br And I believed that my stumble br Had the poise and stride of Apollo br And his voice my thick tongued mumble. br br You told me the plough was immortal! br O green-life conquering plough! br The mandril stained, your coulter blunted br In the smooth lea-field of my brow. br br You sang on steaming dunghills br A song of cowards' brood, br You perfumed my clothes with weasel itch, br You fed me on swinish food br br You flung a ditch on my vision br Of beauty, love and truth. br O stony grey soil of Monaghan br You burgled my bank of youth! br br Lost the long hours of pleasure br All the women that love young men. br O can I stilll stroke the monster's back br Or write with unpoisoned pen. br br His name in these lonely verses br Or mention the dark fields where br The first gay flight of my lyric br Got caught in a peasant's prayer. br br Mullahinsa, Drummeril, Black Shanco- br Wherever I turn I see br In the stony grey soil of Monaghan br Dead loves that were born for me.