Three Irish Bardic Tales Being Metrical Versions of the Three Tales known as The Three Sorrows of Story-telling. By John Todhunter |
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 | Three Irish Bardic Tales |  |
There for a little space on the thymy sward she lay,
Nigh death for sobbing, cold, weeping away her blood
In tears of agony. A robin from a thorn
Burst into gurgling song, for joy of the glad sun:
She felt it like the pain of wakening life in one
Snatched from the sea, rose up, and like a homeless wraith
Drawn by the spells of death from the sweet world of day
Back to the grave, she fled back to her place of dole.
Nigh death for sobbing, cold, weeping away her blood
In tears of agony. A robin from a thorn
Burst into gurgling song, for joy of the glad sun:
She felt it like the pain of wakening life in one
Snatched from the sea, rose up, and like a homeless wraith
Drawn by the spells of death from the sweet world of day
Back to the grave, she fled back to her place of dole.
| Three Irish Bardic Tales | |