Thrice in the night the priest aro… From broken sleep to kneel and pra… ‘Hush, poor ghost, till the red co… And I a Mass for your soul may sa… Thrice he went to the chamber cold…

All wounded sore he lay upon my pa… His piteous moans his woeful need… I stooped to find his hurt with se… A poisoned arrow pierced his panti… He had a friend who dwelt beside t…

Is it some shade from Paradise, Shut down beneath the clouding ski… This wandering voice that ever cri… In its pathetic sweetness? Some loving soul that, leaning far

My fair-haired boy is sore bewitch… He goes all full of grieving; The web of gloom upon his brow Is sure of fairy weaving. His cheery laugh I never hear,

Cean duv deelish, beside the sea I stand and stretch my hands to th… Across the world. The riderless horses race to shore With thundering hoofs and shudderi…

Bring to her spring flowers, Cowslip and celandine, And bid her hear the blackbird’s s… Let pass the sunny hours In her dull room to shine,

She walks in a lonely garden On the path her feet have made, With high-heeled shoes, gold-buckl… And gown of a flowered brocade; The hair that falls on her shoulde…

I wish I were over the Curlew Mo… Marching to Sligo by valley and f… I wish I were back in the years o… Tramping the rough roads with him… I wish that I stood upon Yellow…

‘Do you hunt alone to-day, O Red… Pray you tell me, do you hunt all… ‘Ay, I am for the chase, little c… And wish no other spearing save my… ‘And whither are you going, O Red…

White feet half hid in violets, sm… A burden of Spring’s first blosso… Into wreaths, as she paused a mome… O my child love! hesitating, there… So I stayed till I grew weary—man…

Up the steep stair they clatter to… In whispered merriment they pierce… Of Time’s sweet mercy, who with h… Did seek in vain to stay their res… Their peeping eyes and prying fing…

Deep in the wood’s recesses cool I see the fairy dancers glide, In cloth of gold, in gown of green… My lord and lady side by side. But who has hung from leaf to leaf…

I wish we could live as the flower… To breathe and to bloom in the sum… To slumber and sway in the heart o… And to die when our glory had done… I wish we could love as the bees l…

‘What ails you that you look so pa… O fisher of the sea?’ ‘Tis for a mournful tale I own, Fair maiden Marjorie.’ ‘What is the dreary tale to tell,

On the dry brown bough The withered leaves still cling In their last desperate hold And ceaseless murmuring. They push the swinging branch