Ice-chained four months and one
The house unbound by the golden sun,
A gilded disc that drives to trance
The hunkered host within that manse;
Let foxglove sways announce deliverance
Let the fire of hay sing springtime's brilliance!
Winter keels be a daisy whip,
Daffodil-crowned the icicle drip;
Wilt coldberry stalks with Daffy's advance,
Return gold-dayed recalcitrance,
Leaping long-eved noons in oak
Thatch and cider, tales of old folk
Orated grandly with theatre impart
Old Seanchai Hill Mulligan, down from Kilbart,
Sinking jars without taking a bite,
A cure turns to revels all night.
Such is the season when Barleycorn strides
Bringing life to the grainstalks, the poitin divide
Among friends. Let saxon tongued
farmers bark eddas, belt hymnals full lunged.
Never end and stretch endless;
Daisies bed the maiden's dress.
