O woods of Coona, I can hear the singing
Of the west wind among the branches green
And the leaping and laughing of cool waters springing,
And my heart aches for all that has been,
For all that has been, my Home, all that has been!
Fain would I be once more in the woods of Glen Cain,
Fain would I sleep on the fern in that place:
Of the fish, venison, and white badger’s flesh I am fain
That plentifully we had there, or wherever our trail
Carried us, yea, I am fain of that place.