The Lost Heifer
by Austin Clarke
When the black herds of the rain were grazing,
In the gap of the pure cold wind
And the watery hazes of the hazel
Brought her into my mind,
I thought of the last honey by the water
That no hive can find.
Brightness was drenching through the branches
When she wandered again,
Turning sliver out of dark grasses
Where the skylark had lain,
And her voice coming softly over the meadow
Was the mist becoming rain.
An Bearach ar Strae
Tréada dubha na báistí ar iníor
I mbearna na gaoithe fuaire
Is ceobhrán uisciúil na cnóchoille
A thug sise chun mo chuimhne,
Smaoiníos ar an mil dheireanach cois uisce
Nach dtiocfadh coirceog uirthi choíche.
Bhí an ghile á sileadh trí ghéaga
Nuair a chuaigh sí arís ar fán
Is airgead á iompú sna féara
Áit a neadaíonn an fhuiseog go lá,
Is a géimneach go séimh sa mhóinéar
Mar fhearthainn sa cheobhrán.
