The Danaan Children Laugh, In Cradles Of Wrought Gold,
And Clap Their Hands Together, And Half Close Their Eyes
For They Will Ride The North When The Gereagle Flies
With Heavy Whitening Wings, And A Heart Fallen Cold:
I Kiss My Wailikg Child And Press It To My Breast
And Hear The Narrow Graves Calling My Child And Me
Desolate Winds That Cry Over The Wandering Sea
Desolate Winds That Hover In Hte Flaming West
Desolate Winds That Beat The Doors Of Heaven And Beat
The Doors Of Hell And Blow There Many A Whimpering Ghost
O Heart The Winds Have Shaken; The Unappeasable Host
Is Comelier Than Candles At Mother Mary’s Feet