| Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart
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| O when may it suffice?
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| That is Heaven’s part, our part
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| To murmur name upon name
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| As a mother names her child
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| When sleep at last has come on limbs that had run wild
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| What is it but nightfall?
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| No, no, not night but death
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| Was it needless death after all?
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| For England may keep faith
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| For all that is done and said
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| We know their dream enough to know they dreamed and are dead
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| And what of excess of love
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| Bewildered them till they died?
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| I write it out in a verse
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| MacDonagh and MacBride and Connoly and Pearse
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| Now and in time to be, wherever green is worn, are changed, changed utterly
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| A terrible beauty is born
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| Oh…
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| Oh…
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| Now and in time to be, wherever green is worn, are changed, changed utterly
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| A terrible beauty is born |