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Poem	. . . So I walked among the willows very quietly all night; There was no moon at all, at all; no timid star alight; There was no light at all, at all; I wint from tree to tree, And I called him as his mother called, but he nivver answered me. Oh I called him all the night-time, as I walked the wood alone; And I listened and I listened, but I nivver heard a moan; Then I found him at the dawnin', when the sorry sky was red: I was lookin' for the livin', but I only found the dead. Sure I know that it was Shamus by the silver cross he wore; But the bugles they were callin', and I heard the cannon roar. Oh I had no time to tarry, so I said a little prayer, And I clasped his hands together, and I left him lyin' there. Now the birds are singin', singin', and I'm home in Donegal, And it's Springtime, and I'm thinkin' that I only dreamed it all; I dreamed about that evil wood, all crowded with its dead, Where I knelt beside me brother when the battle-dawn was red. Where I prayed beside me brother ere I wint to fight anew: Such dreams as these are evil dreams; I can't believe it's true. Where all is love and laughter, sure it's hard to think of loss . . . But mother's sayin' nothin', and she clasps -- a silver cross.
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