The Hosting Of The Sidhe
The host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair And Niamh calling Away, come away: Empty your heart of its mortal dream. The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam, Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; And if any gaze on our rushing band, We come between him and the deed of his hand, We come between him and the hope of his heart. The host is rushing twixt night and day, And where is there hope or deed as fair? Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling Away, come away.
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"The host is riding from Knocknarea..."
Exploring the themes of classic, William Butler Yeats delivers a powerful performance in "The Hosting Of The Sidhe"... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...