We have fallen in the dreams the ever-living Breathe on the tarnished mirror of the world, And then smooth out with ivory hands and sigh.

When two close kindred meet What better than call a dance?.

For the good are always the merry, / Save by an evil chance,/ And the merry love the fiddle,/ And the merry love to dance: / And when the folk there spy me,/ They will all come up to me, / With,”Here is the fiddler of Dooney!” / And dance like a wave of the sea.

Only the wasteful virtues earn the sun.

For how can you compete Being honour bred, with one Who, were it proved he lies, Were neither shamed in his own Nor in his neighbour's eyes?

There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet's wings.

The years like great black oxen tread the world, and God, the herdsman goads them on behind, and I am broken by their passing feet.