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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476259" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>A Drover</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=476259" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">To Meath of the pastures, <br>From wet hills by the sea, <br>Through Leitrim and Longford <br>Go my cattle and me. <br>I hear in the darkness <br>Their slipping and breathing. <br>I name them the bye-ways <br>They’re to pass without heeding. <br>Then the wet, winding roads, <br>Brown bogs with black water; <br>And my thoughts on white ships <br>And the King o’ Spain’s daughter. <br>O! farmer, strong farmer! <br>You can spend at the fair <br>But your face you must turn <br>To your crops and your care. <br>And soldiers—red soldiers! <br>You’ve seen many lands; <br>But you walk two by two, <br>And by captain’s commands. <br>O! the smell of the beasts, <br>The wet wind in the morn; <br>And the proud and hard earth <br>Never broken for corn; <br>And the crowds at the fair, <br>The herds loosened and blind, <br>Loud words and dark faces <br>And the wild blood behind. <br>(O! strong men with your best <br>I would strive breast to breast <br>I could quiet your herds <br>With my words, with my words.) <br>I will bring you, my kine, <br>Where there’s grass to the knee; <br>But you’ll think of scant croppings <br>Harsh with salt of the sea.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Padraic+Colum">Padraic Colum</a></strong></div>