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The winds was bundled up the clouds high over Knocknarea And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say; Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat, But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet Of Cathleen the daughter of Hoolihan.
"The fairies dance in a place apart, Shaking their milk-white feet in a ring, Tossing their milk-white arms in the air; For they have heard the wind laugh and murmur and sing Of a land where even the old are fair, And even the wise are merry of tongue." Patriotic love for Ireland is the very breath of Cathleen ni Hoolihan , a one-act prose play in which Cathleen symbolizes Ireland.
The yellow pool has overflowed high upon Clooth-na-Bare, For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air; Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood, But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood Is Cathleen the daughter of Hoolihan.
The old brown thorn trees break in two high over Cummen Strand Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand; Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies, But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes Of Cathleen the daughter of Hoolihan.
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