GREEN wings and yellow breasts on birds that stare
That turn their heads and stare,
And a red streamer tail!
They come from Yucatan
I AM a young girl;
I live here alone:
I write long letters
The moon-cradle's rocking and rocking,
Where a cloud and a cloud goes by:
Silently rocking and rocking,
The moon-cradle out in the sky.
IT was pure indeed,
The air we breathed in, the light we saw,
I and my brother, when we played that day,
Or piped to one another; then there came
FOUL-FEATHERED and scald-necked,
They sit in evil state;
Raw marks upon their breasts
As on men's wearing chains.
WE mark the playing-time of sun and rain,
Until the rain too heavily upon us
Leans, and the sun stamps down upon our lustres,
I'LL be an otter, and I'll let you swim
A mate beside me; we will venture down
A deep, full river when the sky above
THE birds that soar break space
Like heavy bodies hurled!
Not so the birds of night
THEY have hanged Roger Casement to the tolling
of a bell,
Ochone, och, ochone, ochone!