When her winds bring me whispers, of The songs her mother taught her, On inland nights, I wake to dream Of Clare, over the water. The sun yet spawns on restless seas, Where I, all land-lost, caught her, Who stole what I would freely give - Sweet Clare, over the water. Still fair are those green-clouded halls Where, laughing, once I sought her, But time has brought me far away From Clare, over the water. Below the moon, the pale airs Murmur soft of summer's daughter; On inland nights, I wake to dream Of Clare, over the water.
 
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