I
The sun as clear as a raindrop of fire slipt under the say this night,
That was still as the floor of the skies, lyin' smoothened over wid light,
And niver an oar's dip on it, nor a sail but a white gull's wing—
Ah sure not at all, not at all, I was thinkin' of no such a thing.
If the ships of the world sailed around us, like a cloud-wreath beltin' the sun,
Musha, who on the Inish 'ud look where they lay? unless only that one
Could just swim up agin through the waves wid the loadin' she had safe and sound,
Till we'd see 'twas no more than an ugly dream that the childer were drowned.
To tell you the truth, I was thinkin' that a cloud might be soon comin' by,
Weeny and white, for a sign that the rest were gatherin' and darkenin' anigh;
But I'm watchin' the len'th of the day, that seems long since the childer went,
And there's sorra a breath on the blue—we must bide a while yet content.
