The silver moon is shining
On far Knocklayd;
And the night dew glistens
On leaf and blade.
A white mist is passing
Across the moon's face;
Gleaming like silver
In the blue space.
As I gaze upon it,
I seem to see
Dim and misty figures.
People of the sidhe.
Who are the phantoms?
Can they, in truth,
Be the dead heroes
From the land of youth?
Are they the fairies
From the green raths.
Who tread by moonlight
The sky's dim paths?
The mist sweeps onward,
The phantoms fade,
And the moon shines silver
On far Knocklayd.
On far Knocklayd;
And the night dew glistens
On leaf and blade.
A white mist is passing
Across the moon's face;
Gleaming like silver
In the blue space.
As I gaze upon it,
I seem to see
Dim and misty figures.
People of the sidhe.
Who are the phantoms?
Can they, in truth,
Be the dead heroes
From the land of youth?
Are they the fairies
From the green raths.
Who tread by moonlight
The sky's dim paths?
The mist sweeps onward,
The phantoms fade,
And the moon shines silver
On far Knocklayd.
H. K. Leathem
Poem: The Witness, 6 December 1918.
Image: Knocklayd Mountain, County Antrim by Samuel McLarnon
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