"I thought I could have leaped from earth to heaven at one spring when I first saw my sins drowned in the Redeemer's blood."

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Was it for this the wild geese spread The gray wing upon every tide; For this that all that blood was shed, For this. Edward Fitzgerald died, And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone, All that delirium of the brave? Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, It's with O'Leary in the grave.

— William Butler Yeats