| |
| I HEARD the Poor Old Woman say: | |
| “At break of day the fowler came, | |
| And took my blackbirds from their songs | |
| Who loved me well thro’ shame and blame. | |
| |
| No more from lovely distances | 5 |
| Their songs shall bless me mile by mile, | |
| Nor to white Ashbourne call me down | |
| To wear my crown another while. | |
| |
| With bended flowers the angels mark | |
| For the skylark the places they lie, | 10 |
| From there its little family | |
| Shall dip their wings first in the sky. | |
| |
| And when the first surprise of flight | |
| Sweet songs excite, from the far dawn | |
| Shall there come blackbirds loud with love, | 15 |
| Sweet echoes of the singers gone. | |
| |
| But in the lonely hush of eve | |
| Weeping I grieve the silent bills.” | |
| I heard the Poor Old Woman say | |
| In Derry of the little hills. | 20 |
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