Where Lagan stream sings lullaby
there grows a lily fair.
The twilight gleam is in her eye,
the night is on her hair.
And like a lovesick lenanshee,
she hath my heart in thrall;
Nor life I owe, nor liberty,
for Love is Lord of all.
And often when the beetle's horn
hath lulled the eve to sleep,
I steal unto her shieling lorn,
and thro' the dooring peep.
There on the crickets' singing stone
she spares the bogwood fire,
and hums in sad, sweet undertone
the song of heart's desire.
Her welcome like her love for me
Is from the heart within
Her warm kiss is felicity
That knows no taint or sin;
When she was only fairy small
Her gentle mother died
But true love keeps her memory warm.
Also view a Sinead O'Connor Video.