I expect to be there “on a morning misty and mild and fair

...with the mist-drops hanging on fragrant trees and to see
at least one “moocow coming down along the road and this
moocow” that will be coming down along the road may
or may not be met by “a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo...”

There will be rose blossoms and small green places and
wide green meadows spreading out before me all the way
to the very edge of great cliffs overlooking the pounding sea.
In Dublin I will search out the little house in Great Britain Street
where umbrellas can be re-covered and ask please if it is
possible to recover also lost youth and misplaced memories.

And if it’s true “there is no language like the Irish for soothing
and quieting,” I will stop awhile each day and let it wash me over.