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| IT’S a lonely road through bogland to the lake at Carrowmore, | |
| And a sleeper there lies dreaming where the water laps the shore; | |
| Though the moth-wings of the twilight in their purples are unfurled, | |
| Yet his sleep is filled with music by the masters of the world. | |
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| There’s a hand is white as silver that is fondling with his hair: | 5 |
| There are glimmering feet of sunshine that are dancing by him there: | |
| And half-open lips of faery that were dyed a faery red | |
| In their revels where the Hazel Tree its holy clusters shed. | |
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| “Come away,” the red lips whisper, “all the world is weary now; | |
| ’Tis the twilight of the ages and it’s time to quit the plough. | 10 |
| Oh, the very sunlight’s weary ere it lightens up the dew, | |
| And its gold is changed and faded before it falls to you. | |
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| “Though your colleen’s heart be tender, a tenderer heart is near. | |
| What’s the starlight in her glances when the stars are shining clear? | |
| Who would kiss the fading shadow when the flower-face glows above? | 15 |
| ’Tis the beauty of all Beauty that is calling for your love.” | |
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| Oh, the great gates of the mountain have opened once again, | |
| And the sound of song and dancing falls upon the ears of men, | |
| And the Land of Youth lies gleaming, flushed with rainbow light and mirth, | |
| And the old enchantment lingers in the honey-heart of earth. | 20 |
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