Offerings

I GAVE you love, fair Diarmuid, And more than love, my lover, Before you gave your lovely mouth To the grey mouth of the sea. Now what are tears to give you, No tears can ease my sorrow,

Nor soothe your death, fair Diarmuid, Now touched by the dull sea;

And so no wakers burn

The holiness of candles,

The grey dew steeps no flowers For you with holy clay;

But, Diarmuid, here I give you, In Saint MacDara’s island,

This kernel of my body,

That’s withered with my sighs!