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?