Of the voices of the Forest that quell both hate and strife;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but greater than them all
Is the luring laugh of Moira when day ’s at evenfall.
I dream of the ancient wonders, of the Cross caught up in air,
Of the swan of sweet Feale Water that was a maiden fair;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but each fades in eclipse
At the lifted arms of Moira, and Moira’s lifted lips!
[p 37]
]AT MONAREE
When springtime comes to Monaree I know
How the blue hyacinths blow,