Bright is the ring of words
When the right man rings them
Fair the fall of songs
When the singer sings them
Still they are carolled and said—
On wings they are carried—
After the singer is dead
And the maker buried

Low as the singer lies
In the field of heather
Songs of his fashion bring
The swains together
And when the west is red
With the sunset embers
The lover lingers and sings
And the maid remembers