… It is late last night the dog was speaking of you;
The snipe was speaking of you in her deep marsh.
It is you are the lonely bird through the woods;
And that you may be without a mate until you find me.
You promised me, and you said a lie to me,
That you would be before me where the sheep are flocked;
I gave a whistle and three hundred cries to you,
And I found nothing there but a bleating lamb.
You promised me a ship of gold under a silver mast;
Twelve towns with a market in all of them,
And a fine white court by the side of the sea.
You promised me that you would give me gloves of the skin of a fish;
That you would give me shoes of the skin of a bird,
And a suit of the dearest silk in Ireland.
My mother said to me not to be talking to you to-day,
Or tomorrow, or on the Sunday;
It was a bad time she took for telling me that;
It was shutting the door after the house was robbed.
My heart is as black as the blackness of the sloe,
Or as the black coal that is on the smith´s forge;
Or as the shoe left in white halls;
It was you put that darkness over my life.
You have taken the east from me;
You have taken the west from me;
You have taken what is before me and what is behind me;
You have taken the moon, you have taken the sun from me;
And my fear is great that you have taken God from me!