Niamh

Oh, who is she, and what is she? A beauty born eternally Of shimmering moonshine, sunset flame, And rose-red heart of dawn; None knows the secret ways she came– Whither she journeys on. I follow her, I follow her By haunted pools with dreams astir, And over blue unwearied tides Of shadow-waves, where sleep Old loves; old hates, whose doom derides Vows we forget to keep. I send my cry, I send my cry Adown the arches of the sky, Along the pathway of the stars, Through quiet and through stress; I beat against the saffron bars That guard her loveliness. And low I hear, oh, low I hear, Her cruel laughter, fluting clear, I see far-off the drifted gold Of wind-blown flying hair; I stand without in dark and cold And she is–Where? Where? Where?