The danaan children laugh, in cradles of wrought gold, and clap their hands together, and half close their eyes, for they will ride the North when the ger-eagle flies, With heavy whitening wings, and a heart fallen cold I kiss my wailing child and press it to my breast, and hear the narrow graves calling my child and me, desolate wind that cry over the wandering sea; desolate wind that hover in the flaming West; desolate wind that beats the doors of heaven, and beat The doors of Hell and blow there many a whimpering ghost; O heart that winds have shaken, the unappeasable host Is comelier than candles at Mother Mary"s feet.