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I Am Of Ireland

 'I am of Ireland,
And the Holy Land of Ireland,
And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity, Come dance with me in Ireland.
' One man, one man alone In that outlandish gear, One solitary man Of all that rambled there Had turned his stately head.
That is a long way off, And time runs on,' he said, 'And the night grows rough.
' 'I am of Ireland, And the Holy Land of Ireland, And time runs on,' cried she.
'Come out of charity And dance with me in Ireland.
' 'The fiddlers are all thumbs, Or the fiddle-string accursed, The drums and the kettledrums And the trumpets all are burst, And the trombone,' cried he, 'The trumpet and trombone,' And cocked a malicious eye, 'But time runs on, runs on.
' I am of Ireland, And the Holy Land of Ireland, And time runs on,' cried she.
"Come out of charity And dance with me in Ireland.
'

Poem by William Butler Yeats
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