FOOTNOTE:

[D] The music as written suits my speaking voice if played an octave lower than the notation.—F.F.

Florence Farr.

I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young

And weep because I know all things now:

I have been a hazel tree and they hung

The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough

Among my leaves in times out of mind:

I became a rush that horses tread:

I became a man, a hater of the wind,

Knowing one, out of all things, alone, that his head

Would not lie on the breast or his lips on the hair

Of the woman that he loves, Until he dies;

Although the rushes and the fowl of the air

Cry of his love with their pitiful cries.

W.B.Y.

I went out to the hazel wood,

Because a fire was in my head,

And cut and peeled a hazel wand,

And hooked a berry to a thread;

And when white moths were on the wing,

And moth-like stars were flickering out,

I dropped the berry in a stream,

And caught a little silver trout.

A.H.B.

O’Driscoll drove with a song

The wild duck and the drake

From the tall and tree tufted reeds

Of the drear Hart Lake.