laughter in her eyes,
Looking out across the waters, dreaming of her argosies.

Argosies that sail forever, laden down with hopes and fears,
Ships of dream, returning never, though she waits throughout the years,
Waits, with eyes wherein the laughter grows more sorrowful than tears.

One by one her children leave her—stalwart sons and daughters fair,
Straining eyes grown dim with anguish as her hilltops melt in air;
Bending from her cliffs she watches, drinking deep of their despair.

Yet she showers her gifts upon them—gifts of laughter and of tears;
Gives their eyes the Vision Splendid, fairy music to their ears,
Weaves around their feet her magic—spells that strengthen through
the years,

So her children, unforgetting, howsoe'er their footsteps roam,
Turn their hearts forever westward, longing for the day to come
When once more they see her stooping from her heights to call them home.

THE ROAD ACROSS SLIEVE RUE

As I went down to Dublin town
The road across Slieve Rue,
I met a maid in crimson gown;
Her little feet were bare and brown,
She looked at me, she laughed at me
With eyes of watchet blue.

No mortal maid was half so fair,
Or half so dainty sweet;
The sun was tangled in her hair,
And O her feet were brown and bare;
I laid the very heart of me
Before those dancing feet.

"O go you down to Dublin quay
To sail upon the Bay?
I pray you, gentle sir," said she,
"To turn and walk a mile with me."
So witching were the eyes of her
I could not say her nay.

She gave to me a ring of gold,
And kisses, two and three;
She sang me elfin songs of old,
She lured my heart into her hold,
Then turned and left me lonely there—
A wicked witch was she.

As I went down to Dublin quay
By darkling ways alone,
My fairy maid was gone from me,
For O a wicked witch was she,
And all my heart within me lay
As heavy as a stone.

TO W. B. YEATS

A wind of dreams comes singing over sea
From where the white waves kiss the shores of home,
Bringing upon its rainbow wings to me
Glimpses of days gone by—
Of wastes of water, where the sea-gulls cry
Above the sounding foam.

Or through the mists do Finn and Usheen ride,
With all their men, along some faery shore,
While Bran and Sgeolan follow at their side
Adown the shadowy track,
Till in the sunset Caoilte's hair blows back
And Niamh calls once more.

Or the brown bees hum through the livelong day
In glades of Inisfree, where sunlight gleams,
The bean flower scents again the dear old way,
Once more the turf-fire burns;
The memory of the long dead past returns
Borne on that wind of dreams.

A FAIRY TALE

With sword at side, on his charger good,
The King's son of Erin
Into the depths of the dark, green wood
Forward was faring;
Golden-armoured and golden-curled,
Faith, the sweetest song in the world
His heart was hearing!

Onward he rode, with heart elate;
Gaily he sought her—
She, the Princess to be his mate,
The great King's daughter,
Jewelled fingers and golden crown,
Slim young body and eyes as brown
As the brown bog-water.

On he rode through a laughing land:
The ways grew wider,
There stood a cottage close at hand,
And there he spied her—
O but her feet were brown and bare,
And brown were her curls, as she stood there
With her geese beside her.

Alas! for the Princess, proud and slim,
The great King's daughter;
We'll trust she wasted no thought on him,
For he straight forgot her,
Forgot her jewels and golden crown,
For the goose-girl's laughing eyes were brown
As the brown bog-water.

Then straightway down from his steed he sprang
And bent above her;
O sweet were the songs the breezes sang
Across the clover;
But what the words he said in her ear,
Since none but her geese were by to hear,
I can't discover.

And what of the Princess, proud and high?
Good luck upon her!
Sure, another Prince came riding by,
And he wooed and won her.
Now I tell the tale as 'twas told to me
By a fairy lad, across the sea
In County Connor.

THE KING OF ERIN'S DAUGHTER

The King of Erin's daughter had wind-blown hair and bright,
The King of Erin's daughter, her eyes were like the sea.
(O Rose of all the roses, have you forgotten quite
The story of the days of old that once you told to me?)

The King of Erin's daughter went up the mountain side,
And who but she was singing as she went upon her way?
"O somewhere waits a King's son, and I shall be his bride;
And tall he is, and fair he is, and none shall say him nay."

The King of Erin's daughter (O fair was she and sweet)
Went laughing up the mountain without a look behind,
Till on the lofty summit that lay beneath her feet
She found a King's son waiting there, his brows with poppies twined.

O tall was he and fair was he. He looked upon her face
And whispered in her ear a word unnamed of mortal breath,
And very still she rested, clasped close in his embrace,
The King of Erin's daughter, for the bridegroom's name was Death.

KITTY O'NEIL

O a bit of a dance in an Irish street—
Hogan was there, and Hennessy,
Many a colleen fair and sweet,
And Kitty O'Neil she danced with me;
Kitty O'Neil, with eyes of brown,
And feet as light as the flakes o' snow.
Was it last year, O Kitty aroon,
Or was it a hundred years ago?

Hogan is out on a Texan plain,
Hennessy fell in Manila fight,
And I—I am back in New York again
In my old arm-chair at the Club to-night;
And Kitty O'Neil—the snow lies white
On the turf above her across the