Poets

A wind of dreams comes singing over sea, From where the white waves kiss the coasts of home, Bringing upon its rainbow wings to me Glimpses of days gone by,

Alanna! Alanna! Within the churchyard's round There's many graves of childer there; they lie in holy ground. But yours is on the mountain side beneath the hawthorn tree, O sweet one, my fleet one, that's gone so far from me.

The King of Erin's Daughter had wind-blown hair and bright, The King of Erin's Daughter, her eyes were like the sea; (O Rose of all the roses, have you forgotten quite The story of the days of old that once you told to me?)