I'll hush you with a lullaby.
Come, love!

THE LOVER

I go through wet spring woods alone,
Through sweet green woods with heart of stone,
My weary foot upon the grass
Falls heavy as I pass.
The cuckoo from the distance cries,
The lark a pilgrim in the skies;
But all the pleasant spring is drear.
I want you, dear!

I pass the summer meadows by,
The autumn poppies bloom and die;
I speak alone so bitterly
For no voice answers me.
"O lovers parting by the gate,
O robin singing to your mate,
Plead you well, for she will hear
'I love you, dear!'"

I crouch alone, unsatisfied,
Mourning by winter's fireside.
O Fate, what evil wind you blow.
Must this be so?
No southern breezes come to bless,
So conscious of their emptiness
My lonely arms I spread in woe,
I want you so.

A BIRD FROM THE WEST

At the grey dawn, amongst the felling leaves,
A little bird outside my window swung,
High on a topmost branch he trilled his song,
And "Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!" ever sung.

Take me, I cried, back to my island home;
Sweet bird, my soul shall ride between thy wings;
For my lone spirit wide his pinions spread,
And home and home and home he ever sings.

We lingered over Ulster stern and wild.
I called: "Arise! doth none remember me?"
One turned in the darkness murmuring,
"How loud upon the breakers sobs the sea!"

We rested over Connaught--whispering said:
"Awake, awake, and welcome! I am here."
One woke and shivered at the morning grey;
"The trees, I never heard them sigh so drear."

We flew low over Munster. Long I wept:
"You used to love me, love me once again!"
They spoke from out the shadows wondering;
"You'd think of tears, so bitter falls the rain."

Long over Leinster lingered we. "Good-bye!
My best beloved, good-bye for evermore."
Sleepless they tossed and whispered to the dawn;
"So sad a wind was never heard before."

Was it a dream I dreamt? For yet there swings
In the grey morn a bird upon the bough,
And "Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!" ever sings.
Oh! fair the breaking day in Ireland now.

ALL SOULS' EVE

I cried all night to you,
I called till day was here;
Perhaps you could not come,
Or were too tired, dear.

Your chair I set by mine,
I ma