Classic Poem

Say, are you she that came to me last
Brought by enchantment in a vision?
My spirit ravished by the wondrous sight
Knows naught aright for deep distraction.

And if you be not she that came before
With slender body and soft fondling hand,
I'll ne'er believe that there are many more
So gently treading out of Fairyland.

Your kindling cheek, the azure of your eyes!
Could all the four great elements compose
Such coiling gold as o'er your shoulder lies,
A cheek so red, an eye to vie with those?

No tooth so white, no lip so crimson were,
No voice so soft to lull the brain to sleep,
No brow so dark as might with yours compare,
No wealth to match the treasure that you keep!

A throat more white than is the lily flower,
Long tapering hands, surpassing beautiful,
Soft flesh that robs the moonlight of its power,
And dims the foam and makes bright rivers dull.

White are your breasts as blossom, that do stand
High o'er the glorious slopes that gleam below,
Two gentle hills that rise from richest land,
Two wondrous mounds that Fairy people know.

Like flight of birds that sing not in the cold
About your body fall the rippling locks.
Oh, surely they are drenched in liquid gold,
As down they curve and glitter in their flocks!

Oh, trust me! You shall take no harm at all;
But tell if it was you that came last night,
To vex my heart, to trouble Inis Fail,
Bright maid with eye so mild, with teeth so white!

Or was it you that came so long ago
To good King Arthur and his Table Round,
Sweet head whence radiant tresses softly flow?
For since that day no maid so fair was found.

Or was it you that came, for so 'twould seem,
Of old to Ughoine's son, the mighty Hugh,
From Slievenaman, of many a magic stream,
To Eire's people from the Fairy crew?

Or was it you, indeed I think 'twas you,
Who carried Murchadh across the sea,
The night you visited great Brian Boru,
Who lay encamped with all his soldiery?

Or was it you that came another day
The valiant Hound of Culann to beguile?
To lead the son of Deichtire astray
You left your bright and fruitful mound awhile.

Or was it you whose loveliness appealed,
O glorious vision with an angel's grace,
To Mahon O'Maille once on Banba's field,
Where many a war has marred the country's race.

Or was it you that came in days of old,
In ancient days when Conaire was King,
To craze the soul of warriors young and bold
At Tailteann Hill with valor mustering?

Or was it you, O maid of steadfast thought,
That bore young Bran away from Eire's strand?
The son of white-foot Febal once you brought
Across the Ocean to the Promised Land.

There came — Oh, were you there? — to Connacht's King
A glorious company of ladies fair,
On shores of Derg renowned, a wondrous thing,
As by the lake he lay. Oh, were you there?

Or was it you led Connla far away,
In spite of guarding spells of druidry,
From Fodhla's host, from cold, grey hills of Breagh,
O lovely face, not hateful unto me?

Or was it you that did myself beguile
A while ago, O vision of my joy.
And are you she that with her wizard wile
Doth still the men of Fodhla's land destroy?

Ah, yes! 'Tis she! I know that you must be
That very lady that before was here.
In leafy Banba there could never be
Another such; this beauty hath no peer.

O gentle maiden with the limbs of snow,
No fairy equals her I saw last night,
But you yourself. No magic castles show
By Boyne or waves of Cuan a form so bright.

For not the sea-washed mound of Assaroe,
Nor any fairy dwelling's warm recess,
Nor yet Rath Truim nor Youghal e'er did know
A maid of such unearthly loveliness.

For tho' last night I saw her beauty plain,
Another such I never shall discern
In dream or vision till she come again,
And all the wonder of that time return.

Twice hath she come. The maid with longing sore
Wasted my cheek and scarred my brow with care.
Twice hath she come and she will come once more.
And still I wait, for she is wondrous fair.