Dirge for Aoine and other poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

There's many feet on the moor to-night, and they fall so light as they turn and pass,
So light and true that they shake no dew from the featherfew and the hungry grass.
I drank no sup and I broke no crumb of their food, but dumb at their feast sat I.
For their dancing feet and their piping sweet, now I sit and greet till I 'm like to die.

Oh kind, kind folk, to the words you spoke I shut my ears and I would not hear,
And now all day what my own kin say falls sad and strange on my careless ear;
For I 'm listening, listening, all day long to a fairy song that is blown to me
Over the broom and the canna's bloom, and I know the doom of the Ceol Sidhe.

I take no care now for bee or bird, for a voice I 've heard that is sweeter yet.
My wheel stands idle; at death or bridal apart I stand and my prayers forget.

xxx

When Ulick speaks of my wild-rose cheeks, and his kind love seeks out my heart that's cold,
I take no care, though he speaks me fair, for the new love casts out the love that's old.

I take no care for the blessed prayer, for my mother's hand or my mother's call.
There ever rings in my ear, and sings, a voice more dear, more sweet than all.
Cold, cold's my breast, and broke 's my rest, and O it's blest to be dead I'd be,
Held safe and fast from the fairy blast, and deaf at last to the Ceol Sidhe!