Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn. Come clear of the nets of wrong and right. Laugh heart again in the gray twilight. Sigh, heart again in the dew of the morn.
Your mother Eire is always young. Dew ever shining and twilight gray. Though hope fall from you and love decay, burning in fires of a slanderous tongue.
*Morning comes again, and the night descends.
Come, heart, where hill is leaped upon hill. For there the mystical brotherhood of sun and moon and hollow and wood and river and stream work out their will.
And God stands winding his lonely horn, and time and the world are ever in flight. And love is less kind than the grey twilight, and hope is less dear than the dew of the morn.
(all words except * by W.B Yeats)
released November 25, 2010
all rights reserved