 | Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) |  |
278
ORAN-BHROIN
When all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild
With tempest wings that fan the fire
Of sunset to one awful pyre,
I hear the crying of a child—
The crying of a little child
When all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild.
Is blowing wild
With tempest wings that fan the fire
Of sunset to one awful pyre,
I hear the crying of a child—
The crying of a little child
When all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild.
The screaming scart, the wailing mew,
The lone curlew,
From shore and moor these voices rise:
The grey wind roams through ashen skies:
The West is all a blood-red hue:
Out of the glistering moorland dew
I hear a child's voice wail and rise
In mournful cries.
The lone curlew,
From shore and moor these voices rise:
The grey wind roams through ashen skies:
The West is all a blood-red hue:
Out of the glistering moorland dew
I hear a child's voice wail and rise
In mournful cries.
When all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild
And shrill and faint along the shore,
By moor, or hill, and o'er and o'er
A child's lament is tost on high ...
It is a love that cannot die,
A lost love weeping evermore
While all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild.
Is blowing wild
279
By moor, or hill, and o'er and o'er
A child's lament is tost on high ...
It is a love that cannot die,
A lost love weeping evermore
While all the West is blowing wild,
Is blowing wild.
| Poems and Dramas by "Fiona MacLeod" (William Sharp) | |