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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 293 |
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THE GATES OF DREAMLAND
I
T'S a lonely road through bogland to the lake at Carrowmore, And a sleeper there lies dreaming where the water laps the shore. Though the moth-wings of the twilight in their purples
are unfurled Yet his sleep is filled with gold light by the masters of the world.
There's a hand as white as silver that is fondling with his hair:
There are glimmering feet of sunshine that are dancing by him there:
And half-open lips of faery that were dyed to richest red
In their revels where the Hazel Tree its holy clusters shed.
"Come away," the red lips whisper, "all the world
is weary now; 'Tis the twilight of the ages, and it's time to quit the
plow. Oh, the very sunlight's weary ere it lightens up the
dew, And its gold is changed to graylight before it falls to
you.
" Though your colleen's heart be tender, a tenderer
heart is near; What's the starlight in her glance when the stars are
shining clear ? |
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