I SAW the May-moon, Marion,
Clear charged upon the sky,
Last night in the blue-gray heaven
Where the day had all gone by.
The same white curve of silver
I have known for years and years,
No brighter for the smiling,
No dimmer for the tears.

I watched it sinking, Marion,
Where late the sun went down,
And the stars came shining lonesomely
To brood above the town.
And on and on I wandered,
And through the glaring streets,
And over leafy avenues
And where the lake-wave beats.

Still thinking, thinking, Marion.
Of May-moons long ago,
That shone on Ulster hillsides
And valley-paths below.
Along sweet hawthorn hedges,
By shadowy field and lane,
Where I heard the corncrakes calling
And the curlew cry for rain.

I do not murmur, Marion,
These lonely nights and days,
There is but one companion
For all the wide world's ways.
You could not know I coveted
To call you by your name,
Your beauty called me craven
And put my love to shame.

And you did not stoop, sweet Marion,
With favour in your eyes,
But evermore your courtesy
Was kindly, worldly wise.
Ah! how could I approach thee
With no good gift to give,
But a law of self-denial
Appointed me to live?

Four thousand miles, fair Marion,
Make not the distance more;
The distance could not greater be
That sundered us before.
Not that I yield in honour
To the worthiest that be,
But the best of all, Mavourneen,
Were undeserving thee.