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