In Tír-Na N-Og Poem by Anna Johnston MacManus

In Tír-na'n-Og,
In Tír-na'n-Og,

Summer and spring go hand in hand, and in the radiant weather
Brown autumn leaves and winter snow come floating down together.

In Tír-na'n-Og,
In Tír-na'n-Og,

The sagans sway this way and that; the twisted fern uncloses,
The quicken-berry hides its red above the tender roses,

In Tír-na'n-Og,
In Tír-na'n-Og,

The blackbird lilts; the robin chirps; the linnet wearies never,
They pipe to dancing feet of Sidhe and thus shall pipe for ever.

In Tír-na'n-Og,
In Tír-na'n-Og,

All in a drift of apple-blooms my true love there is roaming,
He will not come although I pray from dawning until gloaming.

In Tír-na'n-Og,
In Tír-na'n-Og,

The Sidhe desired my Heart's Delight, they lured him from my keeping,
He stepped within a fairy ring while all the world was sleeping.

In Tír-na'n-Og,
In Tír-na'n-Og,

He hath forgotten hill and glen where misty shadows gather,
The bleating of the mountain sheep, the cabin of his father.

In Tír-na'n-Og,
In Tír-na'n-Og,

He wanders in a happy dream thro' scented golden hours;
He flutes, to woo a fairy love, knee deep in fairy flowers.

In Tír-na'n-Og,
In Tír-na'n-Og,

No memory hath he of my face, no sorrow for my sorrow,
My flax is spun, my wheel is hushed, and so I wait the morrow.