Under The Round Tower

Although Id lie lapped up in linen A deal Id sweat and little earn If I should live as live the neighbours, Cried the beggar, Billy Byrne; Stretch bones till the daylight come On great-grandfathers battered tomb. Upon a grey old battered tombstone In Glendalough beside the stream, Where the OByrnes and Byrnes are buried, He stretched his bones and fell in a dream Of sun and moon that a good hour Bellowed and pranced in the round tower; Of golden king and silver lady, Bellowing up and bellowing round, Till toes mastered a sweet measure, Mouth mastered a sweet sound, Prancing round and prancing up Until they pranced upon the top. That golden king and that wild lady Sang till stars began to fade, Hands gripped in hands, toes close together, Hair spread on the wind they made; That lady and that golden king Could like a brace of blackbirds sing. Its certain that my luck is broken, That rambling jailbird Billy said; Before nightfall Ill pick a pocket And snug it in a feather-bed, I cannot find the peace of home On great-grandfathers battered tomb.