 | Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill |  |
102
ALTANEIGH.
There' a place I used to know,
Where the bendin' birches grow
By the bright wather still-an'-ever fallin',
An' the fern is smellin' sweet
Up the brae about your feet,
An' a voice within the wather-voice is callin'.
Where the bendin' birches grow
By the bright wather still-an'-ever fallin',
An' the fern is smellin' sweet
Up the brae about your feet,
An' a voice within the wather-voice is callin'.
If you waited all the day
Till the light was gone away,
An' the dark an' dewy clouds were slowly shiftin',
Oh, a little, little moon
There would glimmer on you soon,
An' all among the stars go downward driftin'.
Till the light was gone away,
103
Oh, a little, little moon
There would glimmer on you soon,
An' all among the stars go downward driftin'.
Will I ever rise an' go
To the glen I used to know,
To the sweet fern an' golden wather droppin'?
Up the brae an' by the burn
See them stand at every turn,
Green birch crowns the one another toppin'?—
To the glen I used to know,
To the sweet fern an' golden wather droppin'?
Up the brae an' by the burn
See them stand at every turn,
Green birch crowns the one another toppin'?—
Now grant I may not see,
No, never would I be
Where the ferns dip, the dark pools bubble:
When we've loved too long to praise,—
God be with the old dear days!
But the peace of that glen my heart would trouble.
No, never would I be
Where the ferns dip, the dark pools bubble:
When we've loved too long to praise,—
God be with the old dear days!
But the peace of that glen my heart would trouble.
| Collected Poems of Moira O'Neill | |