Page:Selections from Ancient Irish Poetry - Meyer.djvu/112

 I must take my garment even in the sun: The time is at hand that shall renew me.

Youth's summer in which we were I have spent with its autumn: Winter-age which overwhelms all men, To me has come its beginning.

Amen! Woe is me! Every acorn has to drop. After feasting by shining candles To be in the gloom of a prayer-house!

I had my day with kings Drinking mead and wine: To-day I drink whey-water Among shrivelled old hags.

I see upon my cloak the hair of old age, My reason has beguiled me: Grey is the hair that grows through my skin— 'Tis thus I am an old hag.

The flood-wave And the second ebb-tide— They have all reached me, So that I know them well.

The flood-wave Will not reach the silence of my kitchen: Though many are my company in darkness, A hand has been laid upon them all.

O happy the isle of the great sea Which the flood reaches after the ebb! As for me, I do not expect Flood after ebb to come to me.