The Tin-Whistle Player

'Tis long since, long since, since I heardA tin-whistle played,

And heard the tunes, the ha'penny

That nobody made!

The tunes that were before

And Cir went Ireland's

That were before the

That strings have given sounds!

And now is standing in the mist,

And jigging backward there,

Shrilling with fingers and with breath,

A tin-whistle player!

He has hare's eyes, a long face

Around with badger-grey;

Aimless, like cries of mountain

The tunes he has to

The tunes that are for stretches bare,

And men whose lives are

And I had seen that face of

Sculptured on cross of stone,

That long face, in a place of

With nettles overgrown.