Sometimes among these stony silent places, When long gleams tremble through the quietude Upon the sea-stained rags and wind-worn faces Of this poor folk, through some ancestral mood I feel the shades of ancient splendours brood. Then have I heard the wind with slender fingers Harping strange things among the tossing reeds, A lordlier music than the old blind singers Made of Cuchulainn and his mighty deeds, And heroes this faint time no longer heeds. A wilder glory ?oods the creeping water Than fell from torque or gorgelet of old kings, And all the beauty of the harper's daughter Glows in the grey eyes of some girl that sings Yet Deirdre has been dust two thousand Springs. And when the gentle shepherd Night comes bringing T he golden stars to wander in the sky, I hear the heart of mother Dana singing Among the tumbled rocks, and the far cry Of hidden wondrous folk that never die.