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Show The Irish Piper. I heard the piper playing, The piper old and blind. And knew its secret saying The voice of the summer wind. I heard clear waters falling. Lapping from stone to stone; The wood dove crying and calling Ever alone, alone. I heard the bells of the heather Ring in the summer breeeze, Soft stir of fur and feather And quiet hum of bees. The piper drew me yearning Into the dim gray lands Where there is no returning. Although I wring my hands. There to the piper's crooning I saw my dead again, All in a happy nooming Of golden sun and rain. You piper kind and hoary. Your pipes upon your knee. If I should tell my story I The things you piped to me, The folk would leave their selling, And bid their buying go, If I could but be telling The things you let me know. Katharine Tyman. |