Transcontinental gaping eyes, 

Across plenitudes of culture, 

The far reaches of my imagination met, 

On this tour, 

On the way back to the source. 

My quiet town shakes itself, 

Only when there is a bitter wind, 

And when the snow comes,

But once a year, 

Or the rain is spattered on startled faces. 

My lonely town, 

In the centre of one crooked island, 

Small and rocky,

All but uninhabitable, 

Is the centre of my world. 

Here in China,

Is every kind of vastness, 

Each climate takes a turn, 

But all the space in the world, 

Cannot converge to make, 

A chasm quite like that, 

Which exists at home in Cavan.