You were stay'd in heart on heaven,
I by none but you forgiven, —
You unto your Light are taken,
I of all, in you, forsaken.

Where the night is never broken,
Where for long no speech hath spoken,
There the ears no longer hearken,
There the eyeballs wane and darken.

Yet at hours my soul, so bounded
By that gloom like blood surrounded —
Sees an ancient daylight burning —
Hears departed feet returning.

Oft as my lady sang for me
That song of the lost one that sleeps by the sea,
Of the grave and the rock and the cypress-tree,
Strange was the pleasure that over me stole,
For 't was made of old sadness that lives in my soul.

So still grew my heart at each tender word,
That the pulse in my bosom scarcely stirred,
And I hardly breathed, but only heard:
Where was I? — not in the world of men,
Until she awoke me with silence again.

Like the smell of the vine, when it early bloom
Sprinkles the green lane with sunny perfume,

Slowly tread, and gently bear
One that comes across the wave,
From the oppression of his care,
To the freedom of the grave;

From the merciless disease,
Wearing body, wasting brain,
To the rest beneath the trees, —
The forgetting of all pain;

From the delicate eye and ear,
To the rest that shall not see;
To the sleep that shall not hear,
Nor feel the world's vulgarity.

Bear him, in his leaden shroud,
In his pall of foreign oak,
To the uncomplaining crowd,
Where ill word was never spoke.

My heart's whole love in thy white hand I lay,
Irrevocably, as befits the deed,
Undoubtingly, for surely Love decreed
Complete surrender, and I must obey.
Sweet Lady, do not throw the love away;
There may be roses in a wrinkled seed;
And Pan drew music from a broken reed
Till all the world danced round to hear him play.

Imprisoned in my passion's thorny fruit
A million crimson roses crumpled lie;
And though my melancholy heart be mute,
Touch it, and lyric voices will reply.
Make of the hollow reed a magic lute,

I.

When all her brothers in the house
Were lying asleep, my love
Ran before me under the bend of boughs
Till we looked down from above
On the long loch,
On the brown loch,
On the lone loch of Killary!

II.

Together we ran down the copse
And stood in the rain as close
As the birds that sleep in the soft tops
Of the tree that comes and goes
When the morn moon,
When the young moon,
When the morn moon is on Killary!

III.

In tremblings of the water chill
Swans we saw preen their coat,

O, the proud purr of it,
Whiz of it, whir of it!
O, the fierce might of it,
Flare of it, flight of it,
Spin of it, speed of it,
Grip of it, greed of it!
O, the wild will of it,
Throb of it, thrill of it,
Vim of it, verve of it,
Swoop of it, swerve of it!
Like a great dragon-fly over the blue,
So it flared, so it flashed, so it flickered and flew.

Nay, but the Hand of it,
Taking command of it;
And the wise Soul of it,

Rushes that grow by the black water
When will I see you more?
When will the sorrowful heart forget you,
Land of the green, green shore?
When will the field and the small cabin
See us more
In the old country?

What is to me all the gold yonder?
She that bore me is gone.
Knees that dandled and hands that blessed me
Colder than any stone.
Stranger to me than the face of strangers
Are my own
In the old country!

Vein o' my heart, from the lone mountain
The smoke of the turf will die,

Also the darkness falling on thy face,
The shadows as they dance, and flit, and hover,
Display in every line a novel grace,
In every dimple deeper charms discover,
Showing in arc of lid, in curve of lip,
The twilight wonder of God's workmanship.

The twilight wonder of some gentle thought
Translated into beauty gently fair,
Some eyelid-languor by a vision wrought,
Some record of an often-whispered prayer,
Some hope, by daylight hidden for a while,
Blossoming in the shadow as a smile.

O sweetest face, how varying light reveals

Far the grey loch runs
Up to Schiehallion.
Lap, lap the water flows
Where my wee boatie rows,
Greenly a star shows
Over Schiehallion.

She that I wander'd with
Over Schiehallion, —
How far beyond your ken,
Crags of the merry glen,
Stray'd she, that wander'd then
Down from Schiehallion!

Sail of the wild swan
Turn to Schiehallion!
Here where the rushes rise
Low the black hunter lies;
Beat thou the pure skies
Back to Schiehallion!

Wild roses hidden in the hedge
Surrender to the lips of June;
White lilies cloistered in the sedge
Permit the kisses of the moon.

And oh, my heart desires your love,
As never June desires a rose,
And never the pale moon above
Such longing for a lily knows.

And yet your love I vainly seek,
Unto my love no love replies,
No blush gives answer in your cheek,
No passion lightens in your eyes.

Ardent as June I watch and wait,
Pale as the moon I pace your sky;
O Lady, be compassionate,
And kiss and love me, or I die.