V + 

Irish Nocturne + 

Now the grey mist comes creeping up + 

From the waste ocean’s weedy strand + 

And fills the valley, as a cup + 

Is filled of evil drink in a wizard’s hand; + 

And the trees fade out of sight, + 

Like dreary ghosts unhealthily + 

Into the damp, pale night, + 

Till you almost think that a clearer eye could see + 

Some shape come up of a demon seeking apart + 

His meat, as Grendel sought in Harte + 

The thanes that at by the wintry log⁠— + 

Grendel or the shadowy mass + 

Of Balor, or the man with the face of clay, + 

The grey, grey walker who used to pass + 

Over the rock-arch nightly to his prey. + 

But here at the dumb, slow stream where the willows hang, + 

With never a wind to blow the mists apart, + 

Bitter and bitter it is for thee, O my heart, + 

Looking upon this land, where poets sang, + 

Thus with the dreary shroud + 

Unwholesome, over it spread, + 

And knowing the fog and the cloud + 

In her people’s heart and head + 

Even as it lies for ever upon her coasts + 

Making them dim and dreamy lest her sons should ever arise + 

And remember all their boasts; + 

For I know that the colourless skies + 

And the blurred horizons breed + 

Lonely desire and many words and brooding and never a deed. + 