A E F#m D#m I have no happiness in dreaming of Brycelinde, F#m E Am G Nor Avalon the grass-green hollow, nor Joyous Isle, C G E Am Where one found Lancelot crazed and hid him for a while; G F E Nor Ulad, when Naoise had thrown his sail upon the wind; Nor lands that seem to dim to be burdens on the heart: Land-under-Wave, where out of the moon's light and the sun's Seven old sisters wind the threads of the long-lived ones, Land-of-the-Tower, where Aengus has thrown the gates apart, And Wood-of-Wonders, where one kills an ox at dawn, To find it when night falls laid on a golden bier. Therein are many queens like Branwen and Guinevere; And Niamh and Laban and Fand, who could change to an otter or fawn, And the wood-woman, whose lover was changed to a blue-eyed hawk; And whether I go in my dreams by woodland, or dun, or shore, Or on the unpeopled waves with kings to pull at the oar, F E Am I hear the harp-string praise them, or hear their mournful talk.
E Am F Am G Because of something told under the famished horn Cm Ab Cm B Of the hunter's moon, that hung between the night and the day, Eb B G Cm To dream of women whose beauty was folded in dismay, B Ab G C Even in an old story, is a burden not to be borne.