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Rh Six slow steeds will my body bear, To fret or prance they will not care, And no handmaiden with me would dwell (Hark! the tolling of the passing bell.)

O Lady Aideen, will you name for me, name for me who won my refusing? Who hath the singing and all the sun on earth for ever and I the losing? (Oh, the plough horses going off from me, sorrow and tears will my harvest be.) My arms were strong for your woman’s fear; My heart were weak for your loving, dear. What can he give whom you will not name? (Clings a winding-sheet by the candle’s flame.)

O Earl Desmond, be you brave for sorrow, brave for sorrow which is no man’s shielding; Love has wept till his eyes grew blind, and victory’s not in a weapon’s yielding. (Six black horses awaiting me, the ring of the spade has ceased to be.) My lord is named with a bated breath. Whom hope calls ‘Life’ and despair names ‘Death.’ And, oh, his love no world can kill! (The banshee waits on the window-sill.)