A Dead Girl To Her Lover
Nora Hopper Chesson
1871 to 1906
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I hear the hill-winds. I hear them calling
The gray twilights and white morns through.
The tides are rising, the tides are falling,
And how will I answer come to you?
For over my head the waves brawling,
And I shall never come back to you!
water's flowing my dark head over,
And where's the that shall bid it back?
Wild merrows sing, and fishes hover
Above my bed o' the pale sea-wrack,
Achill sands have not kept for my lover
The print of my footsteps' track.
Under the sea all nights are lonely,
Wanting a song that I used hear.
I dream and I wake and I listen
For the sound of your footfall kind and dear.
deelish, your Moirin's lonely,
And is the day of meeting near?
The hill-winds coming, the hill-winds going,
I my voice on their wings to you,-
To you, mo bouchal, whose boat is blowing
Out where the sea meets the blue.
Come down to me now, there's no knowing
But the bed I lie in yet hold two!