The Cuckoo Sings in the Heart of Winter

The cuckoo sings in the heart of winter, 
And all for Mauryeen he tunes his song; 
How Mauryeen's hair is the honey's colour 
(He sings of her all the winter long!) 

Her long loose hair's of the honey's colour, 
The wild sweet honey that wild bees make, 
The sun herself is ashamed before her, 
The moon is pale for her gold cool's sake. 

She bound her hair of the honey's colour, 
With flowers of yarrow and quicken green: 
And now one binds it with leaves of willow, 
And cypress lies where my head has been. 

Now robins sing beside Pastheen's doorway, 
And wrens for bounty that Grania gave: 
The cuckoo sings in the heart of winter, 
He sings all day beside Mauryeen's grave.