THERE'S many feet on the moor to-night, and they fall so light as they turn and pass, So light and true that they shake no dew from the featherfew and the hungry grass. I drank no sup and I broke no crumb of their food, but dumb at their feast sat I; For their dancing feet and their piping sweet, now I sit and greet till I'm like to die. Oh kind, kind folk, to the words you spoke I shut my ears and I would not hear! And now all day what my own kin say falls sad and strange on my careless ear; For I'm listening, listening, all day long to a fairy song that is blown to me, Over the broom and the canna's bloom, and I know the doom of the Ceol-Sidhe. I take no care now for bee or bird, for a voice I've heard that is sweeter yet. My wheel stands idle: at death or bridal apart I stand and my prayers forget. When Ulick speaks of my wild-rose cheeks, and his kind love seeks out my heart that's cold, I take no care though he speaks me fair, for the new love casts out the love that's cold. I take no care for the blessed prayer, for my mother's hand or my mother's call. There ever rings in my ear and sings, a voice more dear and more sweet than all. Cold, cold's my breast, and broke's my rest, and oh it's blest to be dead I'd be, Held safe and fast from the fairy blast, and deaf at last to the Ceol-Sidhe! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOCTOR OF BILLIARDS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW by ROBERT HERRICK EPIGRAM: 101 by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS EUROPE; THE 72ND AND 73RD YEARS OF THESE STATES by WALT WHITMAN WHAT BEST I SEE; TO U.S.G. RETURN'D FROM HIS WORLD'S TOUR by WALT WHITMAN THE HARLOT'S HOUSE by OSCAR WILDE DANSE RUSSE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS |