Read "The Hosting of the Sidhe" by W.B. Yeats online for free on Textopian. Full text with search, annotations, highlights, and AI-powered reading aids.
The host is riding from Knocknarea / And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; / Caolte tossing his burning hair / And Niamh calling _Away, come away: / Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round, / Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound, / Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are a-gleam, / Our arms are waving, our lips are apart; / And if any gaze on our rushing band, / We come between him and the deed of his hand, / We come between him and the hope of his heart_.
The host is rushing 'twixt night and day, / And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caolte tossing his burning hair, / And Niamh calling _Away, come away_.