Querida Irlanda

¿Y si la medida de lo que somos estuviese dada por aquello a lo que renunciamos?

Eso se me ocurrió viendo “The Wind that Shakes the Barley” {también puede ser por el Syrah Rosé 2007 que me tomé mientras tanto...}

The wind that shakes the barley

I sat within the valley green, I sat me with my true love

My sad heart strove the two between, the old love and the new love

The old for her, the new that made me think on Ireland dearly

While soft the wind blew down the glen and shook the golden barley

‘Twas hard the woeful words to frame to break the ties that bound us

But harder still to bear the shame of foreign chains around us

And so I said, “The mountain glen I’ll seek at morning early

And join the bold united men, while soft winds shake the barley”

While sad I kissed away her tears, my fond arms round her flinging

A yeoman’s shot burst on our ears from out the wildwood ringing

A bullet pierced my true love’s side in life’s young spring so early

And on my breast in blood she died while soft winds shook the barley

But blood for blood without remorse I’ve taken at Oulart Hollow

And laid my true love’s clay cold corpse where I full soon may follow

As round her grave I wander drear, noon, night and morning early

With breaking heart when e’er I hear the wind that shakes the barley.

Robert Dwyer Joyce

1830-1883