Shall we go
Up through the Gorge or round by Ryan’s place?
I’ll show you where the wild boar killed a man
Good Friday night, and where he died, they say,
There are flowers all red.
Who is this that comes
Crowned with red flowers from the sea? Who comes
Into the hills with flowers?
On the hill pastures
She heard a girl calling her lost cows.
Her voice hung like a mist over the grass,
Over the apple-trees.
She bit her mouth
To keep from crying.
On the third day
The cone of the pine is broken, the eared corn
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