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Where Lagan streams sing lullaby,
There blows a lily fair.
When twilight gleam is in her eyes,
The night is on her hair.
And like a love-sick lennan-shee,
She hath my heart in thrall;
No life have I, no liberty,
When Love is Lord of all.
And sometimes when the beetle's horn
Hath lulled the eve to sleep,
I steal unto her shieling lorn,
And through her dooring peep.
There on the crickets' singing stone
She stirs the bogwood fire,
And hums in soft, sweet undertones
The song of heart's desire.
Her welcome, like her love for me,
Is from her heart within.
Her warm kiss is felicity
That knows no taint of sin.
