I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea
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Far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be
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And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky
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Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may never die, a sadness that may never die.
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A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose
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Ah, dream not of that, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes
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Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew
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For I would we were changed, my beloved, to white birds on the foam, I and you, to white birds on the foam, I and you.
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Bend low, that I may crown you, flower of the branch
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silver fish my hands have taken from the running stream,
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morning star, trembling in the heavens like a white fawn on the border of a wood
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Bend that I may crown you, that I may crown you.
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And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky
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Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may never die, a sadness that may never die.
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I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore
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Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more
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Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be
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Were we only white birds, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea, white birds on the foam of the sea.
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White Birds
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| The Waterboys |
