Shone the sunset red and solemn Where we stood and observed Down the corners of the column Letter strokes of Ogham carved 'tis belike a burial pillar
[William Butler Yeats] The host is riding from Knockarea And over the graves of Clooth-na-bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling away
Traduction: Primaire. Hébergement du Sidhe.
