She goes all so softly
Like a shadow on the hill,
A faint wind at twilight
That stirs, and is still.
...
Dark winds of the mountain,
White winds of the sea,
Are skirling the pibroch
Of Seumas an Righ.
...
Song
She goes all so softly
Like a shadow on the hill,
A faint wind at twilight
That stirs, and is still.
She weaves her thoughts whitely,
Like doves in the air,
Though a gray mound in Flanders
Clouds all that was fair.