FOR ALL THOSE WHO CONTINUE TO BELIEVE IN DREAMS

This oldie from an ancient disc I managed to dig up while sorting stuff for packing and or chucking… Haven’t seen it myself for years, completed in ’86 when I was but a young’n and as green as I seem to remain to this day [shocked]..,

Paul Brewster - In want of the Wind . Oil on Canvas . 80X70cm . 1986

.., and because the ‘Romantic’ still shines within me from time to time, a little favourite of mine:

THE host is riding from Knocknarea
And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling: Away, come away:
Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam,
Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;
And if any gaze on our rushing band,
We come between him and the deed of his hand,
We come between him and the hope of his heart.
The host is rushing 'twixt night and day,
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
And Niamh calling: Away, come away…

‘The Hosting of the Sidhe’ - W. B. Yeats

And me, well, without my Niamh skipping along hand in hand, to continue to run as if Caoilte is now like chewing toffee with toothache, but hey, there's always something you can do with toothache!