| Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn, |
| Come clear of the nets of wrong and right; |
| Laugh, heart, again in
the grey twilight, |
| Sigh, heart, again in the dew of the morn. |
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| Your mother Eire is always young, |
| Dew ever
shining and twilight grey; |
| Though hope fall from you and love decay, |
| Burning in fires of a slanderous
tongue. |
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| Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill: |
| For there the mystical brotherhood |
| Of sun and
moon and hollow and wood |
| And river and stream work out their will; |
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| And God stands winding His lonely
horn, |
| And time and the world are ever in flight; |
| And love is less kind than the grey twilight, |
| And hope is
less dear than the dew of the morn. |