THE IRISH FAIRIES
When Eber came to Kerry,
When Gitaire gave his gold,
Then were we young and merry
Who now ate old.
The green and the gray places,
Then were they green and grey:
We saw but shining faces
And open day.
We saw but shining faces,
The sickle moon of night,
White queens in royal places,
And jewels bright.
We heard but beauty spoken,
Red war and passion sung,
Music on harp—strings broken,
When we were young.
What is the morning plougher
To us, whose ancient dream
Is as a fallen flower
Upon a stream?
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