So warred, so feasted, with nor dreams, nor fears

Nor languor nor fatigue: an endless feast,

An endless war.

The hundred years had ceased;

I stood upon the stair: the surges bore

A beech bough to me, and my heart grew sore,

Remembering how I stood by white-haired Finn

While the woodpecker made a merry din,

The hare leaped in the grass.

Young Niamh came