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xv

THE DYING SWEETHEART

Where are you going,
O muirnean, muirnean?
Beyond all snowing,
Beyond all reach
Of tenderest speech,
Or waves that break
Upon any beach,
Or wind's rough blowing
On linn or lake—
It's there is going
Your muirnean O.
Where are you going,
O muirnean, muirnean?
Love is not knowing
Why you fell weary,
Why you found dreary
The way all feet in the world are going.
Stay with us, dearie—
Ah, muirnean, O!
I must be going;
Though you stand nearest
Of all, and dearest,
You cannot keep me, for I must go.
xvi

Though my heart's breaking
That I 'm forsaking
The faces kent and the ways I know,
I 'll not be staying,
For all your praying,
For all the gifts in kind Love's bestowing.
I must not stay though you hold me so—
Ah no, no, no!
My bird 's the raven;
The doves no more
Will I be heeding,
Will I be feeding
Here at my door,
Crooning together,
As once of old.
My bed 's the heather,
My bed is green,
And it is not cold.
To the quiet haven
My boat is going,
Where no wind 's blowing
Or storm has been.
The Ninth Wave 's creeping
About my feet;
Let me go, Sweet—
xvii

I'm to my sleeping,
And fain to go.
O muirnean, muirnean,
My muirnean, O!
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