Beannachtaí na Féile Pádraig oraibh!
It’ll be a dryish Patrick’s day in Ireland this year, but among all the doom and gloom, a Happy St. Patrick’s day to all!
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I knew I should’ve picked up the Black Bushmills today. Got some Singleton instead. Happy St. Patrick’s Day.
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I’m sipping a stout. Well, it’s more like a tonic water. With gin in it.
But, it’s the thought that counts!
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May the road rise up to meet you,
May the wind always be on your back,
May the sun shine warm upon your face,
The rains fall soft upon your fields,
And until we meet again,
May God hold you in the palm of his hand.
Sláinte
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My favourite 
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Nice.
Happy Paddy’s Day all!
I was supposed to be back in the homeland ,
, this will have to do. To all the Irish , home and abroad and those who have an affinity with the old sod, Beannachtai la fheile Padraig, ni neart go cur le cheile.
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Slainte, brother 
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Aussie band, but nevermind.
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When You Are Old
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
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That’s actually close to a translation of a poem written in the Provencal language by a guy called Pierre de Ronsard. Not making that up. Not sure if Yeats acknowledged that or not.
Quand vous serez bien vieille
Pierre de Ronsard
Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,
Assise auprès du feu, dévidant et filant,
Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant :
Ronsard me célébrait du temps que j’étais belle.
Lors, vous n’aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle,
Déjà sous le labeur à demi sommeillant,
Qui au bruit de mon nom ne s’aille réveillant,
Bénissant votre nom de louange immortelle.
Je serai sous la terre et fantôme sans os :
Par les ombres myrteux je prendrai mon repos :
Vous serez au foyer une vieille accroupie,
Regrettant mon amour et votre fier dédain.
Vivez, si m’en croyez, n’attendez à demain :
Cueillez dès aujourd’hui les roses de la vie.
Pierre de Ronsard, Sonnets pour Hélène , 1578
I will admit that Yeats is marginally better than google translate which renders it as follows:
When you are very old, by candlelight in the evening,
Sitting by the fire, reeling and spinning,
Say, singing my verses, marveling:
Ronsard celebrated me when I was beautiful.
Then you will not have a servant hearing such news,
Already under half-sleeping labor,
Who at the sound of my name does not wake up,
Blessing your name of immortal praise.
I’ll be underground and boneless ghost:
By the myrtle shadows I will take my rest:
You will be at home an old squatting,
Regretting my love and your proud disdain.
Live, if I believe it, don’t wait until tomorrow:
Pick the roses of life today.
OK so on that note, and for a bonus point, who wrote this?
Sed precor credentibus et timentibus Deum, quicumque dignatus fuerit inspicere uel recipere hanc scripturam quam Patricius peccator indoctus scilicet Hiberione conscripsit, ut nemo umquam dicat quod mea ignorantia, si aliquid pusillum egi uel demonstrauerim secundum Dei placitum, sed arbitramini et uerissime credatur quod donum Dei fuisset. Et haec est confessio mea antequam moriar.
nein,
five minute wait before guessing again is allowed
10
Happy St Patrick’s Day everyone!
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Correct response!
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