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DUBLIN MADE ME Dublin made me and no little town With the country closing in on its streets The cattle walking proudly on its pavements The jobbers, the gombeenmen and the cheats Devouring the fair-day between them A public house to half a hundred men And the teacher, the solicitor and the bank-clerk In the hotel bar drinking for ten. Dublin made me, not the secret poteen still The raw and hungry hills of the West The lean road flung over profitless bog Where only a snipe could nest Where the sea takes its tithe of every boat. Bawneen and currach have no allegiance of mine, Nor the cute self-deceiving talkers of the South Who look to the East for a sign. The soft and dreary midlands with their tame canals Wallow between sea and sea, remote from adventure And Northward a far and fortified province Crouches under the lash of arid censure. I disclaim all fertile meadows, all tilled land The evil that grows from it and the good, But the Dublin of old statutes, this arrogant city Stirs proudly and secretly in my blood. Donagh MacDonagh
I have fun creating and trying to improve articles on subjects that interest me and just as much fun with subjects that don't, as I find out things I didn't know. One of the things I've tried to do is save articles from deletion by improving them. Ad astra and Newton Arvin are two I like.
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