A wind may wake and fly away,
And whispers plough the air -
But dreaming deep in summer sleep
The lake of Derryclare.
If I were alone in the early morn
By a green tree in the grass -
By a tree in the middle of the dewy world -
Lady, I might see you pass.
Sing the song of sun and wind,
Sing your song and sing it kind,
Wind and sun and month o’ May,
And there’s turf by Loughacurril in the mornin'.
And - sweetest thought - I wonder if
My old friends speak of me
When gathered round their cheerful hearths
In Cashel by the sea.
Oh, the truth to you I’ll own,
I would leave the green grass, never,
But to meet young Rose-alone
On the bogs of Shonaheever.
He builded a church beside the road
In the bushes above the sea
For the poor plain folk o’ the twisted lands,
An’ poorer an’ plainer he.
The lakes are mild, and milder more,
The water-lilies there
Are like to moons upon the sky,
But twenty times as fair.
She kissed his hand, she drew her cloak
Against the chilling dawn -
“I’ll meet you, boy, by and by,
All on the rocks of Bawn.”
I wonder if the Lurag stream
Still works its weedy way
Along the moor and past the school
To Cashel's sheltered bay.