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- The grand road from the mountain goes shining to the sea,
- And there is traffic on it and many a horse and cart,
- But the little roads of Cloonagh are dearer far to me
- And the little roads of Cloonagh go rambling through my heart.
- A great storm from the ocean goes shouting o'er the hill,
- And there is glory in it; and terror on the wind:
- But the haunted air of twilight is very strange and still,
- And the little winds of twilight are dearer to my mind.
- The great waves of the Atlantic sweep storming on their way,
- Shining green and silver with the hidden herring shoal;
- But the little waves of Breffny have drenched my heart in spray,
- And the little waves of Breffny go stumbling through my soul.
- Eva Gore-Booth
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