Four Sisters
In Connaught and Leinster
Tears wait for me,
But I dwell merrily
Here by the sea.
My kirtle's gold-bordered,
Gold tires my hair,
And red quicken-berries
That Oscar once bare.
In Connaught my mother
Sits by her door,
And calls her lost children
Over and o'er.
A high hall of Leinster
Shuts in from me,
Maive, Eily, Mairé,
Mairé the Shee.
Maive she has yellow hair
Softer than silk:
Eily has hazel eyes
And skin like milk.
Mairé's hair, chaffer-black,
Hangs to her knee —
Eyes gray and bright as swords,
Mairé the Shee.
Eily sings merrily
All the day long,
Mairé spins wearily
To Eily's song.
Black threads of sin she spins,
Red threads of blame,
White threads and yellow threads,
Love: death: and shame.
Which did he dearest hold,
Mairé the Shee,
Who sent him down to death
In the gray sea!
Eily his first beloved,
Or Maive he wed?
Or I whom once he crowned
With berries red?