Here is another poem that I love. It was written by the Irish martyr and leader of the 1916 Rising,Padraig Pearse.

THE REBEL

I am come of the seed of the people, the people that sorrow,

That have no treasure but hope,

No riches laid up but a memory

Of an Ancient glory.

My mother bore me in bondage, in bondage my mother was born,

I am of the blood of serfs:

The children with whom I have played, the men and

women with whom I have eaten,

Have had masters over them, have been under the

lash of masters,

And, though gentle, have served churls;

The hands that have touched mine, the dear hands

whose touch is familiar to me,

Have worn shameful manacles, have been bitten at

the wrist by manacles,

Have grown hard with the manacles and the

task-work of strangers,

I am flesh of the flesh of those lowly, I am bone of

their bone,

I that have never submitted;

I that have a soul greater than the souls of my

people's masters,

I that have vision and prophecy and the gift of fiery

speech,

I that have vision and prophecy and the gift of fiery

speech,

I that have spoken with God on the top of His holy

hill.

And because I am of the people, I understand the

people,

I am sorrowful with their sorrow, I am

hungry with their desire:

My heart has been heavy with the grief of mothers,

My eyes have been wet with the tears of children.

I have yearned with old wistful men,

And laughed or cursed with young men;

Their shame is my shame, and I have reddened for

it,

Reddened for that they have served, they who

should be free,

Reddened for that they have gone in want, while

others have been full

Reddened for that they have walked in fear of

lawyers and of their jailers

With their writs of summons and their handcuffs,

Men mean and cruel!

I could have borne stripes on my body rather than

this shame of my people.

And now I speak, being full of vision;

I speak to my people, and I speak in my people's

name to the masters of my people.

I say to my people that they are holy, that they are

august, despite their chains,

That they are greater than those that hold them,

and stronger and purer,

That they have but need of courage, and to call on

the name of their God,

God the unforgetting, the dear God that loves the

peoples

For whom He died naked, suffering shame.

And I say to my people's masters: Beware,

Beware of the thing that is coming, beware of the

risen people.

Who shall take what ye would not give. Did ye think

to conquer the people,

Who shall take what ye would not give. Did ye think

to conquer the people,

Or that Law is stronger than life and than men's

desire to be free?

We will try it out with you, ye that have harried and

held,

Ye that have bullied and bribed, tyrants, hypocrites, liars!

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