Out of the wild hills I am hearing a voice, O Cathal! And I am thinking it is the voice of a bleeding sword. Whose is that sword? I know it well: it is the sword of the Slayer— Him that is called Death, and the song that it sings I know:— O where is Cathal mac Art, the white cup for the thirst of my lips? Out of the cold greyness of the sea I am hearing, O Cathal, I am hearing a wave-muffled voice, as of one who drowns in the depths: Whose is that voice? I know it well: it is the voice of the Shadow— Her that is called the Grave, and the song that she sings I know:— O where is Cathal mac Art, that has warmth for the chill that I have? Out of the hot greenness of the wood I am hearing, O Cathal, I am hearing a rustling step, as of one stumbling blind. Whose is that rustling step? I know it well: the rustling walk of the Blind One— Her that is called Silence, and the song that she sings I know:— O where is Cathal mac Art, that has tears to water my stillness? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 1 by GAIUS VALERIUS CATULLUS THE HOUSE OF LIFE: THE SONNET (INTRODUCTION) by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI LOGOGRIPH by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD MY OWN EPITAPH by MARY CHANDLER A SONG OF MERCY AND JUDGMENT by WILLIAM COWPER |