Laughs in the soul of me.
I know the guffaw of a tempest,
The mirth of a blossom and bud—
But I laugh when I think of how Cuchulain laughed
At the crows with their bills in his blood.
The mother laughs low at her baby,
The bridegroom with joy in his bride—
And I think that Christ laughed when they Took Him
with staves
On the night before He died.