I dream of the ancient wonders, of the isle of Hy Brasail
That rides through the mists of Mayo, then fades like a fading sail;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but there‘ s one that haunts me more,
‘ T is the faun-like grace of Moira upon Lough Corib's shore.
I dream of the ancient wonders, of the wells of Death and Life,
Of the voices of the Forest that quell both hate and strife;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but greater than them all
Is the luring laugh of Moira when day‘ s at evenfall.
I dream of the ancient wonders, of the Cross caught up in air,
Of the swan of sweet Feale Water that was a maiden fair;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but each fades in eclipse
At the lifted arms of Moira, and Moira's lifted lips!