Under the Moon

I HAVE no happiness in dreaming of Brycelinde

Nor Avalon the grass-green hollow, nor Joyous Isle

Where one found Lancelot crazed and hid him for a while;

Nor Uladh, when Naoise had thrown a sail upon the wind;

Nor lands that seem too dim to be burdens on the heart:

Land-under-Wave, where out of the moon's light and the sun's

Seven old sisters wind the threads of the long-lived ones

Land-of-the-Tower, where Aengus has thrown the gates apart