[Sing with harp accompaniment.]
Who will go ride with Fergus now
And pierce the deep wood's woven shade
And dance upon the level shore?
Young man lift up your russet brow
And lift your tender eyelid maid
And brood on hopes and fear no more.
And no more turn aside and brood
Upon love's bitter mystery
For Fergus rules the brazen cars
And rules the shadow of the wood
And the white breast of the dim sea
And all dishevelled wandering stars.
-- William Butler Yeats
