(More Irish verse, this from MacNeice again, on the subject of dear once-dirty Dublin, where I spent many a day with my dad, an eon ago).
This never was my town, I was not born or bred Nor schooled here and she will not Have me alive or dead But yet she holds my mind With her seedy elegance, With her gentle veils of rain And all her ghosts that walk And all that hide behind Her Georgian facades - The catcalls and the pain, The glamor of her squalor, The bravado of her talk.
