Archive: March 27th, 2016

Now and in time to be,

Wherever green is worn,

Are changed, changed utterly:

A terrible beauty is born.

I write it out in a verse —

MacDonagh and MacBride And Connolly and Pearse

We know their dream; enough To know they dreamed and are dead.

And what if excess of love Bewildered them till they died?

Was it needless death after all?

For England may keep faith For all that is done and said.

What is it but nightfall?

No, no, not night but death.

Roast lamb, roast potatoes, and wild garlic.

Roast lamb, roast potatoes, and wild garlic.