Erin Go Bragh-humbug

Although I’m an Irish lass by genes and inclination, my idea of a St. Patrick’s Day celebration is soda bread, black tea and Yeats.  (If there’s an Irish version of “Bah humbug,” insert here.) Needless to say, I celebrate alone.  But I left some poems by Yeats at the local Irish pub for those whose celebrating takes a jollier turn.

poems are on lower left windows
poems are on lower left windows


Yeats’ “A Drinking Song” was a no-brainer for the occasion:


And a more sobering poem of his:



That one holds some of my favorite lines ever from any poem:

And under every dancer

A dead man in his grave


And because this particular pub is THE meeting place for old pals on St. Patrick’s Day, I left this:




Finally, you can’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day without a good toast and an Irish blessing, so I left both behind:




This one is dear to me:



Happy St. Patrick’s Day!


  1. Sherry Crowson

    AH! An a happy Irish day ta yourself! I love the one with the line . . “So let’s all get drunk and go to heaven!” Humans are so good at rationalizing whatever makes them happy. And that was a lovely Irish blessing as well . . . full of light for dark days, and celebrating light when you’ve got it! The Irish can sure seem to make the best of any circumstance! Hope you get some blue skies and merry sunshine for today!

    And an odd coincidence . . . my father’s mother was a Dow, and my mother’s mother was a Sullivan from County Cork Might know there would be a pub and a poet in there somewhere . . .

Leave a Reply