throw when die I must!
There my Mother calls, wakeful is she!
Sound o' the West-wind! Devon to me!

Where my fathers lie, when I am gone,
Who need pity me, dead? Never one!
There my Mother clasps me. Let me be!
Feel o' the red earth! Devon to me!

EVA GORE-BOOTH

MAEVE OF THE BATTLES

I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill,
And I know that the deed that is in my heart is her deed,
And my soul is blown about by the wild wind of her will,
For always the living must follow whither the dead would lead--
I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill.

I would dream a dream at twilight of ease and beauty and peace--
A dream of light on the mountains, and calm on the restless sea;
A dream of the gentle days of the world when battle shall cease
And the things that are in hatred and wrath no longer shall be.
I would dream a dream at twilight of ease and beauty and peace.

The foamless waves are falling soft on the sands of Lissadil
And the world is wrapped in quiet and a floating dream of grey;
But the wild winds of the twilight blow straight from the haunted hill
And the stars come out of the darkness and shine over Knocknarea--
I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill.

There is no rest for the soul that has seen the wild eyes of Maeve;
No rest for the heart once caught in the net of her yellow hair--
No quiet for the fallen wind, no peace for the broken wave;
Rising and falling, falling and rising with soft sounds everywhere,
There is no rest for the soul that has seen the wild eyes of Maeve.

I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill
And I know that the deed that is in my heart is her deed;
And my soul is blown about by the wild winds of her will,
For always the living must follow whither the dead would lead--
I have seen Maeve of the Battles wandering over the hill.

RE-INCARNATION

The darkness draws me, kindly angels weep
Forlorn beyond receding rings of light,
The torrents of the earth's desires sweep
My soul through twilight downward into night.

Once more the light grows dim, the vision fades,
Myself seems to myself a distant goal,
I grope among the bodies' drowsy shades,
Once more the Old Illusion rocks my soul.

Once more the Manifold in shadowy streams
Of falling waters murmurs in my ears,
The One Voice drowns amid the roar of dreams
That crowd the narrow pathway of the years.

I go to seek