t is riding from Knoarea,

        And over th-na-bare;

        Caolte tossing his burning hair,

        And Niamh calling, “Away, e away;

        Empty your    of its mortal dream.

        the leaves whirl round,

        Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,

        Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam,

        Our arms are ,

        And if any gaze on our rushing band,

        e e between he deed of his hand,

        e e between .”

        t is rus night and day;

        And where hope or deed as fair?

        Caolte tossing his burning hair,

        And Niamh calling, “Away, e away.”
请记住本书首发域名：966xs.com。966小说手机版阅读网址：wap.966xs.com