He made a harp with Druid apple-wood
And sleepy boughs, and boughs where apples made
The Harp of Aengus
When Midhirs wife had changed her to a fly,
Of opal and ruhy and pale chrysolite
Because her hands had been made wild by love.
Sweet with all music, out ofhis long hair,
And Druid moons, and murmuring of boughs,
That she among her winds might know he wept;
But faithful lovers.
Where time is drowned in odour-laden winds
Edain came out of Midhirs hill, and lay
Beside young Aengus in his tower of glass,
Awake unsleeping fires; and wove seven strings,
And from that hour he has watched over none
