THE CRIPPLE

By Clinton Scollard

I have dreams of the outer islands,

Firths and forths of the Far-Away;

I have dreams of the heathery highlands

Under the golden day.

I have dreams of a sliding river —

Shannon — under the stars and sun;

I have dreams how the oar-blades quiver,

And the silvery salmon run.

I have dreams of a blithe lad striding

Out through the streets of Limerick-town;

I have dreams of a sweet maid biding

Under a thatch of brown.

But here I lie all huddled and hidden,

( Oh, the eternity it seems! )

Brooding desolate and bed-ridden,

Living only in dreams!