In the Dark o' the Day

In the dark o' the day 
He shall come to my door, 
He that died far away 
From the Irish shore. 
I'll make to him the bed, 
And tire my widowed head, 
When he comes from the dead 
In the dark o' the day. 

My hands shall drop with myrrh 
On doorlatch and handle, 
My sleeping fire I'll stir 
And quench my watchful candle. 
I shall be fair and young. 
And in my mouth a song. 
Oh, 'tis long, long, long. 
Till the dark o' the day. 

In the dark o' the day 
He will come to my door. 
No greeting will he say. 
But cross my threshold o'er. 
My groping hands he'll take, 
My heart, long like to break, 
With full delight he'll slake 
In the dark o' the day. 

In the dark o' the day 
We shall lie down to sleep; 
I will not see the gray 
Dawn through the window creep. 
I'll hold him to my breast 
So close, so dearly pressed. 
My life shall be his guest 
In the dark o' the day. 

My life shall be his guest, 
And mine his death shall be. 
And lying on his breast 
Death shall come sweet to me. 
But now I dare not die 
Because November's nigh, 
And my dear may yet come by 
In the dark o' the day.