— "The high cold waterfall

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“The high cold waterfall

Longs for the warm pool

Drops into it as into a bed

This love knows itself well

Swallows link hill to hill

Their flight is worth long study

The stammering quagmire utters itself

Stubbornly

The bog comes into its own

Host to cuckoo and hare

If a boy is not strong now

He’ll never be a warrior

Men flourish like wheat

Women are proud as fields

All things hope to be perfect

I begin to believe in peace”

– Anonymous, from “Song of Summer,” tr. Brendan Kennelly (Irish)