The Wind on the Hills

Go not to the hills of ErinnWhen the night winds are about,Put up your bar and shutter,And so keep the danger out.

For the good-folk whirl within it,And they pull you by the hand,And they push you on the shoulder,Till you move to their command.

And lo ! you have forgottenWhat you have known of tears.And you will not rememberThat the world goes full of years;

A year there is a lifetime,And a second but a day,And an older world will meet youEach morn you come away.

Your wife grows old with weeping,And your children one by oneGrow grey with nights of watching.Before your dance is done.

And it will chance some morningYou will come home no more;Your wife sees but a withered leafIn the wind about the door.

And your children will inheritThe unrest of the wind,They shall seek some face elusive.And some land they never find.

When the wind is loud, they sighingGo with hearts unsatisfied,For some joy beyond remembrance,For some memory denied.

And all your children's children,They cannot sleep or rest.When the wind is out in ErinnAnd the sun is in the West.