A Connaught Man (For Hugh Maguire)

Lord, when he shall come home from war, Give him no pastures green, But a wet wind and a soft wind With reek of turf between. Nor let Thy light shine overmuch Lest that his soul should fret For the grey mist and silver mist That he will not forget. Build him no pearl-white palaces Nor gardens fair and fine, Lest for his bare, far-stretching bogs His home-sick heart should pine. Not groves, nor any vermeil walks, Nor flowery pastures pied, But the great sweep of sky and land And the hills at eventide. Lord, when the men come from the war, Give each man his desire! Give him the soft wind and the rain And the reek of the turf fire.