The poem
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare; Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving our eyes are agleam, Our arms are waving our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart. The host is rushing 'twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caoilte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away.
this is a very uniquie poem. in my drama class we are practising greek theater and my group and i thought this would be a great poem to do. we figured that you can really twist the beat any way you want to, you can get many different oppinions on the pronounciation of words and there are plenty of actions to choose from. if anybody else is looking for a great poem to chose from, i recomend this one.
)(:~...#courtney#...~>)(