The danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold,
and clap their hands together, and half close their eyes,
for they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies,
With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold
I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast,
and hear the narrow graves calling my child and me,
desolate wind that cry over the wandering sea;
desolate wind that hover in the flaming West;
desolate wind that beats the doors of heaven, and beat
The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost;
O heart that winds have shaken, the unappeasable host
Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary"s feet.