Too long a sacrifice can make a stone of the heart.

Oh, when may it suffice?

That is heaven's part, our part, to murmur name upon name, as a mother names her child,

when sleep at last has come, on limbs that had run wild.

What is it but nightfall?

No, no, not night, but death.

Was it needless death after all?

For England may keep faith,

for all that is done and said.

We know their dream,

enough to know they dreamed and are dead.

And what if excess of love bewildered them till they died?

I write it out in a verse,

McDonough and McBride and Connolly and Pierce.

Now and in time to be, wherever green is worn,

are changed, changed utterly.

A terrible beauty is born.

William Butler Yates.

Easter, 1916.

Welcome to the history of the 20th century.

Music to the history of the 20th century. Episode 126, A Terrible Beauty is Born, Part 1

The Nation of Ireland has had a recurring role in this podcast ever since episode 10, which I believe is the first episode in which

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