The Mountainy Singer

Will come flocking after me.
I will sing to the striding sowers
With the finch on the greening sloe,
And my father will sing the seed-song
That only the wise men know.

I will go with my father a-reaping
To the brown field by the sea,
And the geese and the crows and the children
Will come flocking after me.
I will sing to the tanfaced reapers
With the wren in the heat of the sun,
And my father will sing the scythe-song
That joys for the harvest done.

THE SHINING SPACES OF THE SOUTH

The shining spaces of the south,
The circle of the year, the sea,
The blowing rose, the maiden’s mouth,
The love, the hate, the ecstasy,
The golden wood, the shadowed stream,
The dew, the light, the wind, the rain,
The man’s desire, the woman’s dream,
The bed embrace, the childing pain,
The sound of music heard afar,
The breathing grass, the broken sod,
The sun, the moon, the twilight star —
Do all proclaim the mind of God.
Then why should I, who am but clay,
Think otherwise, or answer nay?

LIKE A TUFT OF CEANABHAN

Like a tuft of ceanabhan
Blowing in the wind
Is my slender Aine Ban —
White and soft and kind.

Kind her heart is, but her clann’s
Cold as clay or stone.
Would that I had herds and lands
To take her for my own!

THE HERB-LEECH

I have gathered luss
At the wane of the moon,
And supped its sap
With a yewen spoon.
I have sat a spell
By the carn of Medb,
And smelt the mould
Of the red queen’s grave.
I have dreamed a dearth
In the darkened sun,
And felt the hand
Of the Evil One.
I have fathomed war
In the comet’s tail,
And heard the crying
Of Gall and Gael.
I have seen the spume
On the dead priest’s lips,
And the “holy fire”
On the spars of ships;
And the shooting stars
On Barthelmy’s Night,
Blanching the dark
With ghostly light;
And the corpse-candle
Of the seer’s dream,
Bigger in girth
Than a weaver’s beam;
And the shy hearth-fairies
About the grate,
Blowing the turves
To a whiter heat.
All things on earth
To me are known,
For I have the gift
Of the Murrain Stone!

WHO BUYS LAND

Who buys land buys many stones,
Who buys flesh buys many bones;
Who buys eggs buys many shells,
Who buys love buys nothing else.

Love is a burr upon the floor,
Love is a thief behind the door;
Who loves leman for her breath
May quench his fire and cry for death!

Love is a bridle, love is a load,
Love is a thorn upon the road;
Love is the fly that flits its hour,
Love is the shining venom-flower.