The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,
Between each lovely couple a stately Rowan stem,
And away in mazes wavy like skimming birds they go,
Oh, never carolled bird like them!
But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze
That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,
And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes,
And dreamier the gloaming grows.
And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky
When the falcon’s shadow saileth across the open shaw,