Famous Poets collection of free poems and free poetry
Home| What's New| Search Poetry| About US| E-Mail Poem a day| Privacy Policy|
  Children Poems
  Englands Poets
  Fathers/ Fathers day Poems
  Friendship Poems
  General Poems
  Graduation Poems
  Humerous/ Funny Poems
  In Memoriam
  Love Poems
  Mothers/ Mothers day Poems
  Mystical/ Mythology
  Nature Poems
  Poems of Hope
  Remembrance Poems
  Spiritual/ Religious Poems
  Spring Poems
  Summer Poems
  Thought provoking/ sad Poems
  War Poems
  Wedding Poetry
  Winter Poems
  Top Viewed Poetry
  Top rated Poetry
  All Poets
  All Poems
  Poet of the Day
  Poem of the Day
  Site Map

Total Views:  678  
        Rating:  0  
This Poetry has been rated 0 times  
Rate This Poem:      
Poem Title:  The Ballad Of Father Gilligan

Poem Category:  General Poems

Poet:  William Butler Yeats

Poet Biography: 
William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) was a poet whose influences include The Occult, symbolism and Irish political independance

The old priest Peter Gilligan
was weary night and day
for half his flock were in their beds
or under green sods lay.

Once, while he nodded in a chair
at the moth-hour of the eve
another poor man sent for him,
and he began to grieve.

'I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
for people die and die;
And after cried he, 'God forgive!
My body spake not I!'

He knelt, and leaning on the chair
he prayed and fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
and stars began to peep.

They slowly into millions grew,
and leaves shook in the wind
and God covered the world with shade
and whispered to mankind.

Upon the time of sparrow chirp
when the moths came once more,
the old priest Peter Gilligan
stood upright on the floor.

'Mavrone, mavrone! The man has died
while I slept in the chair.'
He roused his horse out of its sleep
and rode with little care.

He rode now as he never rode,
by rocky lane and fen;
The sick man's wife opened the door,
'Father! you come again!'

'And is the poor man dead?' he cried
'he died an hour ago.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
in grief swayed to and fro.

'When you were gone, he turned and died,
as merry as a bird.'
The old priest Peter Gilligan
he knelt him at that word.

'He who hath made the night of stars
for souls who tire and bleed,
sent one of this great angels down,
to help me in my need.

'He Who is wrapped in purple robes,
with planets in His care
had pity on the least of things
asleep upon a chair.'

Designed & Developed By Elitesofttech

Love Poems and Love Poetry | Funny Poems and Funny Poetry | Mothers Day Poems and Mothers Day Poetry | Fathers Day Poems and Fathers Day Poetry | Free Poems and Free Poetry | Famous Poems and Famous Poetry | Childrens/Teen Poems and Childrens/Teen Poetry | Wedding Poems and Wedding Poetry | War Poems and War Poetry | Sad Poems and Sad Poetry | Friendship Poems and Friendship Poetry | Graduation Poems and Graduation Poetry